#they better stop being so sweet before they melt the snow and my heart

[egberts]

my floridian neighbors are hooting and hollering in delight

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,��� (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

[snowsinterlude]

stuffed.

(coriolanus snow x f. reader)

summary: what better way to show your affection towards one than trapping them by your side forever? well, if there was one, president snow didn't knew about it.

c.w: forced breeding, baby trapping, president snow, cnc, slapping, forced creampie, possessiveness, stockholm syndrome at the end, fem. reader, reader is (was) a opera singer

singing like there was no tomorrow was something you did quite often, being a opera singer to the capitol was the best thing that could've happened to you before. especially since you were from the districts.

so now, knowing the president is your fan (something you didn't expected, not even in a thousand years), you were singing your heart out at his parties. every bouquet of white roses he gave you always hid something. pearls, diamonds, earrings of white colored jews. he seemed to like white very much- even though his suit was always the red ones.

then, there was money.

the motive for him to give so many things was revealed when he was pinning you on the wall, the posca he drank seemed to have took control over his brain. somehow, you didn't mind it. maybe because the idea of being the president's favorite girl was something quite appealing- something your stupid self seemed to like very much.

feeling so desired, feeling so loved was something adorable, lovely. especially when he woupd promise you so many things.

you didn't believe any of them. you always made sure to be on the pill, always made sure to put a condom on his dick, always made sure to tell him to pull out when you didn't had a condom.

he was tired of it. he wanted you to be pregnant for him, wanted to see your belly showing through your clothes and the fantasies you used when performing. he wanted you closed on his room with your legs open and your pussy wet- he wanted to kill all of those who were thirsting over you, over the way your corset hugged your body so nicely and made your boobs bounce.

with that in his mind, you noticed just how rude he was tonight.

"i want you to be my wife," he said, midfucking. he would always say things like that while pounding inside you. it was crystal clear to you that he didn’t really wanted it, or so you thought, because his intention ever since he saw you was to fuck his babies into you and make you bear all of them.

"c-cory, let's talk about it later- oh, fuck!" you moaned, fucking yourself on him as his dick entered you so nicely, hitting all the right spots. as always.

you recieved a slap on your ass, accompanied by a thick, strong grab. "not later," he pounded inside you, hand on your waist, grabbing you so tightly you felt like you'd simply die at his touch. maybe it was a good thing. "now. 'wanna talk about it now."

you mewled as he thrusted inside your cunt again, his dick hitting all the right spots, from your cervix to your sweet g spot. "n-no, later, mm, truly."

he slapped your clit. it was getting rough now. you could notice from how hard he bit your nipple, it's not that you don't like it- it's just because you weren't ready for it.

"i'm serious, dove. i want you to be my wife." you didn't listen, too caught up in the pleasure, in the painful bites on your nipple, on the angry soft slaps on your swollen clit.

"s-stop it, you know i can't- i'm a performer, i-"

"i don't fucking care," he grunted, his nails buried into your skin "you're mine. from the moment i layed my eyes on you you were mine." he said, looking at your mewling melted state. "you're so wet, so tight on me, and yet you claim you don't want to be my wife?"

he laughed, as if telling a joke to himself, as if that was the biggest joke on the world. each two thrusts made you squirm, you already came some minutes ago. there were two condoms filled to the brim with his seed by your side on the bed of his guest room.

trying your best not to cum again, he took himself out of you, taking the condom of your side into his hands. he hated the texture. if it depended on him he would fuck you raw everytime. and yet there he was, obediently following your rules just to fuck you senseless.

"w-wait, what are you doing? stop. stop it! ah, fuck!" you squirmed at the hot feeling of his cum entering you, being poured inside of you, it felt so good you couldn't help but want more, for your own surprise. "p-president snow-"

"now is president? until some seconds ago it was coryo." he said, fingering his own cum inside you, making sure nothing would spill.

"p-please stop, i can't be pregnant-"

"you can." he stuffed you with it again, spilled all the cum of he other condom inside you "you will. i'll make sure of that"

taking the condom out of his dick again, the blonde introduced his dick into you again, smiling at the sight and the feeling of your wet cunt.

"fuck- look at you. so wet and still trying to say you don't want it." he smiled, nibbling on your nipple.

"n-no- i dont want to be pregnant, i can't- i have to sing!" you moaned, your hips meeting his with every thrust. you bucked your hips on him, did your best not to like it, but you couldn't lie to yourself, it was wonderful.

"if you don't want this then why are you fucking yourself on me?" his answer was a long moan you gave him, your nails scratching his back, burying themselves deep inside him. "god, you're a whore."

"p-pills. i-i need to find my pills!" you squirmed, your cunt tightening around him so deliciously god that you had to bite your bottom lip as to not let anything out- not to let him know you liked it, from his dick inside you to his cum stuffed into you.

"you wont find them," he smiled. "threw them away"

"oh fuck- pull out, p-pull out!!" you squirmed, but it was too leste already, you were cumming on his dick and he was laughing at you while pinching your clit.

"you said you didn't want that"

"i-i don't. i can't, i sing. my entire life revolves around singing"

"not anymore" he came inside you, dick throbbing into your cunt as you squirmed. "just for nome months, you'll be a caged bird."

the idea he pictured to you was terrible. a wife, always in white, drained out from taking care of two babies. even if the feeling of his cum inside you was terribly good, the thought of being a mother was your worse nightmare.

he proposed to you again the next night. and of course you had to accept. being a single mother is never good to a girl who were originally from the districts. a lot of the capitol's people were running their mouth already, saying you seduced him, manipulated him, or whatever it was.

it was the contrary.

but of course they wouldn't know that, not with your wings clipped together for you to not sing your way out.

not with your round belly showing up. not with the two babies on his arm and his. both looked like you both. your nose, his eyes. his mouth, your hair. you loved them.

maybe it wasn't so bad.

[synthetickitsune]

Oh, Death ✧ y.jh

Pairing: grim reaper!Yoon Jeonghan x reader (gn) Genre: angst without plot Summary: You've always thought death was beautiful and then you’re proven right just before your very own death when he comes to take you away. Word count: 1.3k Warnings: reader dies, implied suicidal thoughts and body image issues (very brief mentions for both) A/N: based on three banger lines (in bold in the fic) that @hanniedream dropped into my dms and then wrote her own amazing fic (with plot!!) that's much better than whatever this is so go read that (i'm just freeloading on bibi's big brain here)

You've always thought death was beautiful and then you’re proven right just before your very own death when he comes to take you away.

He stands there like an apparition of moonlight on a cold and rainy night, a single beam that would break the stormy skies and bring silence upon the world.

As if covered by a heavy blanket of snow, as if the time has stopped, all sound disappears from the world, from the street, from your room. You take a breath and you’re so startled you gasp again, self-conscious of the loud noise in the perfect silence.

His breathing is quiet and slow, methodical, as if he’s counting the beats of your heart before he breathes each time. It’s slow, you find, your heartbeat. Almost artificial in its steady tempo.

Somehow you feel like it’s stopped beating a long time ago, now only a memory meant to soothe you. Your body trying to save your life one last time, the memories of your cells working all together to keep you alive keep going even after their purpose was fulfilled until the last second. You look behind you - mean to look.

You can’t.

Not with the cold but gentle fingertips softly touching your jaw just as you’re about to turn back to take a look.

You’re startled again when your gaze turns towards what’s in front of you. He moved without a sound, crossing the expanse of space between you in just one second. Where are you? It feels like a dream. The split second of time between sleep and waking up, the short infinity when a lightning flashes in perfect silence and wakes you up from your sleep. You think you see stars, but they lose their shine against his eyes.

They’re the color of ice but hold the gentleness of melting snow, the water freed from its icy prison and searching for someone to embrace and mold itself against their shape. His touch is just like that snow, stealing your warmth slowly. You don’t mind it being drained as long as he keeps his fingers on your skin. He never warms up. His touch remains freezing and he looks apologetic for that. Yet there’s no reason. His cold is one of a breeze on summer’s day, a cold towel on your forehead when you’re tormented by fever.

You think you love him, death.

You understand that’s what he is. That there’s nothing that can be done about it, or about your demise. It’s not his place to decide about it, only to carry it out. He’s gentle. Quiet. As cold as his touch is, it doesn’t hurt you. You don’t remember any pain. You feel light, something akin to happiness buzzing under your skin. Elated. That’s how you feel. A reverent sort of happiness that you suppose comes after the hardship is over.

Is it an act of mercy that he won’t let you see the body that kept you alive? Or is it a rule he has to follow? You wish to see it. For all the complicated feelings you might’ve had towards it through your life, it was yours. It treated you as best as it could.

You lower your eyes like a child being scolded when his fingers stroke your cheek gently, preventing you from turning back for the second time. He’s patient. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do, but you’re sure it’s not lingering on the border between life and death, between the then and the to-be. Yet you do. It’s strange. You craved death so dearly, like a sweet candy after a bitter medicine, yet now that you’re parting with life you’re hesitant. Like wondering if you forgot to take your keys with you the moment the door is closed. Only this time, there’s no one to help you. Shedding your skin, like shedding your life in the world of living, is perhaps truly an act of mercy.

Of course you weren’t prepared for death, and for what comes after. No matter how much you longed for it and wished for it at times. It feels awkward. You’re glad someone is here waiting for you, guiding you. You’re sure he’s meant to guide you. It feels familiar. Did a similar scene happen before? Your memories are so hazy, your entire life flashing through your mind on a loop. Perhaps he’s there too somewhere, waiting like he’s waiting now for you to notice him.

You raise your gaze again and meet his eyes.

You always knew there was a reason you thought about and loved death as much as you did and now that you're face to face with him, everything made sense. death was beautiful. Death is beautiful.

You wonder if someone told him before.

Slowly he lets his hand fall, tracing your skin down your neck and towards your collarbones. Then lower. He caresses your sternum until his fingers stop just below it. You shiver. Like a deer staring into the scope of a rifle, you hold his gaze. They’re kind, his eyes. He’s kind. You feel no pain.

His soft eyes reassure you and comfort you. You start crying, and you see tears pooling in his eyes too until a single one overflows. You feel cold. The cold of staying in the pool for too long. The cold of sitting in the shower after the water stopped running, the droplets cooling on your skin, barely any heat remaining trapped in the fold of your curled body. 

His lips part only slightly. You want to hear his voice but he doesn’t say anything. Your breathing is erratic and too loud, you can’t even hear him breathing. Another tear spills. His other hand comes to hold your face like he did before. Gently, a barely-there touch. His hands are always gentle. Careful not to cause pain. Something is being ripped from you with his icy touch, but it doesn’t hurt. Does it hurt him? Is he taking your pain away? If so, you wish he didn’t. Seeing him cry is like watching an angel weep. It should never happen. No matter if he’s the opposite of an angel.

It feels like an ice shard is being pulled from your body, so slowly that the sharp edges don't cut you. Something heavy is being taken from you. Something that kept the blood, the hurt, inside you. What are you going to do without it? His fingers move smoothly to hold your chin up, so you don’t see what it is that he took from you. There’s a void in your chest left behind. A black hole swallowing everything, starving to fill the emptiness. It’s not hard to guess what it was that he took from you.

One more tear falls. You want to tell him it’s okay. Instead he leans closer. His soft breath caresses your skin. You close your eyes when he’s so close you can see the web of galaxies in his irises. His lips are like petals of a frozen flower against the skin of your cheek. When you open your eyes again, he’s crying. Silently.

He extends a hand towards you, stained ruby. You take it. It’s sticky and cold. It binds you together. 

If the stain remains, if it’s never washed away, will the blood spin itself into a string that would guide you back to him?

Without an answer, you follow him. For now, you only need to hold his hand. You don’t need to look for him if he found you.

And for now, that’s enough. 

For now, you feel him. 

Later you’ll look for ways to find him too.

[ladycatofwinterfell]

We get Ned loving Catelyn’s hair a lot (understandably), what about Cat playing with Ned’s hair?

Yes! Them being fluffy in bed together and Cat playing with Ned’s hair, enjoy <3

“Must you always do that?” Catelyn had to ask when Ned pushed himself off the bed.

Once her heart slowed and she stopped sweating it would feel cool enough in there. There was little need to let the cold night into her chambers.

“To keep from dying, aye” Ned simply responded.

With ease he opened the window, something he had done uncountable times before. Something it seemed she couldn’t keep him from no matter how many times she raised complaints.

A cool wind swept through the room and Catelyn immediately shivered. Even in summer it was so cold. Though at least it wasn’t snowing. More than once he had opened the windows only for the wind to bring snow with it inside and then she had been less than glad with him.

“You’re not a very good guest, my lord.”

“A guest in my own wife’s bedchamber? You hurt me, Catelyn.”

Even as he had his back to her she heard the smile in his voice when he spoke. It made her feel just a little warmer even though it was not nearly warm enough.

“Close the window and come back to bed” she told him.

He only did half of what he was told. The window remained open, though he did come back to bed. She didn’t know how much more she could ask for, was happy he at least warmed her when he insisted on keeping the window open.

When joining her in the bed he pulled the furs up halfway over them, leaving their upper bodies bare. And so she pulled him to her so that he could rest against her and further help with fending off the cold. Without resistance he laid his head down on her shoulder.

Her stoic and stern lord husband, hers to take into her arms.

“You’re soft” he murmured as he put an arm over her. “Better than any pillow.”

“That’s due to you, my lord.”

The children had left their weight on her, made her rounder and softer. A change she was not very fond of but that Ned often let her know he liked.

“One of many joys our children have brought me.”

They had not chosen one another. Had she been allowed to truly choose in her youth she would not have chosen him. Though how glad she was for that it was him in the bed with her. His hands moving over her skin, his head resting on her shoulder, his tongue that said he loved her.

Reaching up with one hand she weaved her fingers into his hair, gently running her nails along his scalp.

Catelyn liked that he kept his hair long, liked what it did with his face. She liked the little braids he often had in it, liked it when he tied it back. She also liked it when he kept it loose for bed and she was free to comb through it with her hands.

A satisfied noise came from him, close to a cat purring when pet. He had small noises he made when he was comfortable and at peace, hums and sighs that spoke of those feelings even as he did not voice them. Catelyn had never asked of whether or not he was aware of it out of fear that he would stop. She so liked that he was not always as silent as he could be.

“You are a sweet man, Eddard Stark” she could not help but say.

Ned huffed, though said nothing more. When she turned her head a little to look at him she saw he had closed his eyes as if to sleep.

Though he would not sleep yet, he very rarely fell asleep before her. Catelyn felt weary from the day and still she had no wish to sleep yet. She wanted to lie there and merely enjoy Ned’s warm presence as she ran her fingers through his hair again and again.

Ned must have been spent, too. Soon Catelyn heard how his breathing slowed, how suddenly he was almost melting into her.

In the end it was one of the very rare nights when he would sleep first. Still he had something that needed doing before he could do so.

“Don’t fall asleep, the window is still open.”

For a moment it seemed like he hadn’t heard her, then he groaned. He didn’t open his eyes, only wrapped his arms tighter around her.

“Ned” she said softly. “Close the window. I will not do it myself.”

That time he answered her.

“What does it matter? I will keep you warm.”

“A sweet promise, my love, though soon even you will be freezing.”

His hot northern blood would not keep him safe forever, not even he could defeat the cold nights. It was already much too cold in there, even with him pressed against her.

With a sigh Ned seemed to force his eyes open. After that it was another moment before he pushed away from her. Slowly he moved across the floor and over to the window.

“Now we may sleep” Catelyn said as he closed it and pulled for the tapestries again.

The room was still too cold for her liking, the chill already having made its way inside. Though at least it would not get colder and soon enough the warm water running through the walls would have brought warmth back.

Almost groggily Ned stumbled back into the bed, quickly settling against her just as he had before. Even the arm flung over her ended up in the same place.

She knew he would be too warm soon. Most likely he was already too warm. Still he would sleep entangled with her because he considered it worth it. Perhaps because he knew how much she liked it.

“Are you happy now?” Ned asked, again having closed his eyes.

It would have been impossible not to smile.

“Very much so, my dear. Very much so.”

[stevesbestgirl]

Their Girl is by far my favorite fic I was so excited to see you were making a season 2!!! I love both chapters, the dynamic of the other kids with the reader being the youngest melted my heart man! Can we pretty please get a sneak peak at the next chapter, if not that’s fine just wanted to let you know how much I enjoy your writing!

🥺🥺🥺

This is so sweet! And I'm glad you liked it- I'm really trying to dig into the relationships in the second season 😊

And since you asked so nicely...

Daddy!Stucky x Little!F!Reader

826 words

Warnings: age regression, crybaby reader (we stan), reader is sleepy and overstimulated

A/N: This isn't necessarily the next chapter, but I hope it scratches that itch for a little while longer 😊

Bucky finally sat up on the couch, rubbing his face to wake himself, "I'm sorry, doll. It's my fault."

He held his arms out to you and you shuffled into them, still sulking. He kissed your neck, murmuring low, "Are you mad at me, princess?"

After several moments of serious contemplation, you sighed, "No. But 'm sad."

He pulled back to meet your gaze, "Can I make it up to you?" You couldn't think of anything else you wanted, so you stayed quiet. "That sad, huh?"

You nodded. 

"What about if we watch your show tonight? I won't tell Papa about your screen time."

"I heard that," Steve's voice rang out from the kitchen. He followed with a laugh, "But we can watch the show."

But you'd kind of been expecting that anyway, so it didn't make you feel better. "Nuh-uh."

Now it was Bucky's turn to pout, "Are you sure you're not mad at me, doll?"

You knew you weren't mad at Bucky, but you were groggy and disappointed and frustrated that you didn't know what you wanted instead. 

"No-" your voice wavered and broke, a single sniffle preceding a wave of real tears.

"Doll, I was just teasing- don't cry," Bucky panicked, pulling you back into his arms and stroking your hair. But the tears had started. 

"C-can't st-stop-" you stammered, shoulders heaving against Bucky's chest.

Bucky rubbed your back and murmured soothing words in your ear, but nothing made you feel better.

A tap on your shoulder sent you scrambling into Steve's arms. He hoisted you up on his hip, handing you a sippy cup, "Drink for me, sweets."

Suckling at the spout forced you to calm down some; after a minute, Steve was able to wipe your cheeks dry with his palm, "Better?"

Lowering your gaze, you nodded. Steve tipped your chin up, "We'll watch your show tonight and we'll play in the snow tomorrow."

You nodded again, murmuring, "Can we have ice cream?"

Steve laughed, "You don't know when to quit, do you?" But Bucky gave you a thumbs up behind Steve as he turned around. And sure enough, after dinner, while Steve cleaned up, Bucky dished out some ice cream.

Eating a big spoonful and humming, you jumped when Steve's hand landed on your shoulder. He spoke in your ear, "You're one spoiled girl, aren't you?"

Fixing him with a doe-eyed stare, you offered him a spoonful. Electing to take the bite instead of letting it drip onto the floor, he hummed, but kept his gaze on you, squeezing the back of your neck softly between his fingers. 

"We prefer 'doted on,' don't we, doll?" Bucky chuckled. 

Steve was quiet for a long moment, taking a seat at the table, "When did I stop being part of 'we?'"

Bucky was quick to get behind him, rubbing Steve's shoulders, "Of course you're part of 'we,' Stevie. I was only joking-"

"But not really, Buck. You two have this special connection. Sometimes I feel like the strict librarian while you two are giggling behind the shelves."

"Princess, are you finished with your ice cream?"

Glancing at your now empty bowl, you gave a reluctant nod.

Bucky swiftly warmed a washcloth under the tap, wiping your mouth clean before planting a kiss on your forehead, "I need to talk to Papa for a minute, can you play in your room?"

Hesitating, you fixed him with a wide-eyed gaze, "I'm not in trouble?"

Chuckling, he gave your butt a little pat, "No, you're not in trouble. We just need a couple of minutes alone."

Stealing a glance at Steve, who was uncharacteristically quiet, you nodded. But you detoured to hastily peck his cheek before scurrying down the hall to your bedroom. 

You halfheartedly played with your dolls, wondering how many minutes it had been. It couldn't hurt to tiptoe out and just see if they were almost done.

So you crept out of your room and hovered at the corner of the hallway. They were not done talking, in fact, but you stayed.

"-not that you're left out, it's that you need your own special relationship," Bucky was saying. "Like you and I have."

"If we both start letting her break the rules, why even have them?"

"I'll dial it back," Bucky said soothingly. "I know she needs structure. But you have let her know how special she is to you. Become her safe place; that was the whole point, right?"

Steve nodded, heaving a sigh. You finally had the good sense to take your leave, but your foot scuffed the carpet in your doorway as you backed in. As the now distant hum of their voices cut, you peeked around the corner of the doorway. "Can I come out now?"

They both laughed, but it was Bucky who answered, "You can march that cute little butt into the bathroom to get cleaned up; Papa will be right in."

[venusiangguk]

may we see the fight tae oc scene pls pls please!!! u can delete later🤔🤔🤔🤔😳😳😳😳 i’m really curious. i mean ofc u don’t have to. still 😧🙃

idealizations concerning real life relations: deleted scene

>>pairing: jungkook x reader / icrlr!couple

>>genre: fwb, angst, rated PG

>>word count: 2.5k

>>warnings: alcohol, implied smut

>>notes: this is a deleted scene from icrlr, that i omitted simply because of the length of the final fic!! feel free to skip or ignore, it doesn't change anything, but since u guys are curious about it, i'll post it as a lil ty for helping me hit that milestone <3 it takes place after the tattoo party scene, and before the lecture scene.

this does NOT provide an alternative ending.

>>summary: taehyung tries to make you see things for what they really are, but it's hard to see through the rose colored glasses.

Winter break has been long awaited and it is finally, finally here. The snow has coated the ground thick, making the town look like a winter wonderland. The air is sharp and cold but not to a miserable extent. Just chilly enough to bundle up, to hold a hand a little tighter and soak up their warmth.

Your favorite season is fall, but the later months are a close second. You love seeing the way everyone’s faces get red when snow flurries come down to kiss their nose and cheeks. Love the way pom poms bounce atop little hats as children play and have snowball fights. Winter is surprisingly one of the warmest, sweetest times of the year. Like the hot coco Jeongguk has been swapping your regular macchiato with lately.

There’s a greatly anticipated party tonight- a mashup of Taehyung’s birthday and New Year’s Eve. Anticipated for the simple fact that said birthday boy has steadily been ignoring you for weeks, and tonight was a night where he couldn’t evade your attempts of reconciliation. He hasn’t returned a single call or even sent a text back. You can’t even be mad at him really, you know it’s justified. You know you fucked up. The coffee date you had with Yoongi last week let you know what you did.

Over an iced coffee, you learned that you had unintentionally skipped out on your best friend's Winter Showcase. The important one that he mentioned multiple times. The one you promised to attend no matter what.

It wasn’t on purpose; you wanted to go, to support him. But you just got caught up. In life, in school, in Jeongguk. It happens.

When Yoongi asked you why you had missed it, when he told you how hurt Taehyung was by your absence, your heart dropped, sank deep within your chest as your mouth fell open before closing, a small pursed frown on your lips. You didn’t have a good excuse. You went to get tattoos with Jeongguk and then to a party where you fucked him, and then home after that? You were too tired to make it? You just simply forgot? Those excuses weren’t good enough for you and you knew they wouldn’t be good enough for Taehyung.

Whereas Yoongi was okay with distance, long periods in between hanging out and talking, Taehyung wasn’t. He was the kind of friend that needed support, reassurance that you cared. He liked quality time and hangs outs that were planned ahead so he could look forward to them. He was looking forward to you being at his showcase.

The party is packed, even more so than usual. Students, drop-outs, alumni, and randoms alike, all congregate to bring in the new year, to celebrate the end of finals, and a certain art majors birthday. Bodies are on bodies, music is loud and deafening. Cups, bottles, and small baggies litter the floor and the smell of weed is nauseating.

Jeongguk’s hand in yours is sweet, though. Enough to ebb the distaste in your mouth as you watch the stereotypical disaster that is a college party.

“I’m going to go find the drinks, okay?” you lie, squeezing Jeongguk’s hand lightly.

He squeezes back, kisses the side of your head as he says, “Bring me one back too?”

You nod, and slip out of his view. Scanning the crowd until you see a familiar face.

Jimin is laughing, red cup in his hand, eyes curled and happy. He’s sitting on the arm of a couch, legs swinging as he laughs with a group of people. He takes a drink from his cup and let’s his eyes roam the room like he’s looking for someone.

The way his face changes when he sees you approaching is like a punch in the gut. It goes from happy, and carefree to stony- only a small, irritated, close-lipped smile on his face. Eyes harsh and cold, no longer holding the mirth they were just seconds ago. He says nothing when you step in front of him, he just looks you over like he’s bored and waiting for you to get on with it so he can be done with it.

You shift on your feet under his scrutiny. “Where’s Tae?” you ask.

Jimin narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head. “Now you want to know where he is? Haven’t been concerned with his whereabouts for months. Definitely weren’t worried about it last week.”

You wince but carry on swiftly. “Listen, I know I fucked up. I’m here to apologize.” You look at him expectantly, but he holds his ground. When he doesn’t falter, you resort to begging, “Please, Jimin. He’s my best friend… I miss him.”

You must look pitiful, because Jimin’s indifferent facade fades, and he clicks his tongue like he’s annoyed at himself for giving into you. “He’s getting us drinks in the kitchen.”

A smile takes over your face as you rush out a ‘thank you’, quickly turning on your heel to head in the opposite direction, before Jimin calls after you.

“Yeah?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“If he’s your best friend, maybe treat him like it, yeah?”

You continue to the kitchen without replying, and you can’t help the little simmer of annoyance that bubbles in your chest. Taehyung has been your best friend for years. And even though Jimin had a point, who was he to tell you anything about yours and Taehyung’s friendship?

Before the thought can fester, however, you see the boy you came looking for, two bottles of vodka in his hand like he’s trying to decide which to use. You see the little party hat atop his shaggy hair before anything else and your heart aches a little. You really did miss him. He lets out a small annoyed sound, and knowing him, he’s probably trying to figure out which has the highest alcohol percentage. You come up next to him, and say his name gently. He jumps, but when he realizes it’s you, the ghost of a smile curls on his lips like he’s happy to see you.

Until it’s replaced with resentment just as quickly. His sharp eyes squint at you before turning back to the bottles in his hands, scowl still in place.

“So you decided you could pencil me in between getting your heart toyed with and your back blown out?” He gives you a side glance and sees how your jaw drops in surprise. He carries on, unbothered. “Or did this just work out because it coincides with New Year’s and because he was invited? Only because he’s Jimin’s friend might I add.”

“Tae-” you try, doing your best to keep the hurt whine out of your tone.

“Save it, __. I don’t want to hear the excuses you have. Just-” he looks at you again, and you think that maybe he softens when he sees your crestfallen features. He sighs like he’s tired. “Just leave me alone. Just for a bit, okay? I’ll get over it eventually,” he finishes, finally deciding on the vodka he wants.

You know his request isn't unreasonable. But it’s already been so long that the distance in your friendship has been eating away at it, that you’re scared ‘eventually’ might take too long and by the time he comes around, there won’t be much of a friendship left. That the damage done, will be irreparable.

“Tae… It’s already been months, can’t we-”

Like night and day, the softness that you were able to pull out of him is immediately replaced with that resentment and anger you were met with when you first stepped into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” he seethes, strong brows furrowed. “And whose fault is that?”

His words are sharp and the sting from them makes you take a step back. That is, until you feel anger of your own creep up your throat like venom. “You’re one to talk, Taehyung. You could have reached out to me, too. You’re no better than me when you’re in a relationship.”

He groans, gives an exasperated laugh before shrugging. “You know what? Maybe I am just as bad as you, but at least I’m actually in a relationship,” he spits, “You’re just fucking someone that doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

You know he’s hurt because of the distance. That he doesn’t intend to be so mean. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and it doesn’t stop the angry tears from pooling in your eyes.

And although you’re angry, almost shaking with rage at the feeling of being cornered and blamed, your heart aches at hearing his words.

Jimin, who started seeing Taehyung after you started seeing Jeongguk, had already made your friend official. Had given him the title, the commitment, the relationship that you had been patiently and understandingly waiting for with Jeongguk. The bitterness that bleeds into your heart makes you feel gross and ugly.

You know what they say; that labels are superficial and don’t mean that much. But when you don’t have them? It makes you wonder. If a label really isn’t that important, like everyone says, why is Jeongguk so reluctant to give one to you?

“Jimin’s your boyfriend?” you whisper.

Taehyung gives you a short nod. “Month and half ago. You would’ve known if you got your head out of Jeongguk’s ass.”

Almost like he was summoned, the topic of debate waltz into the room, coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He nuzzles into your neck.

It’s instinctual now, the way your body responds to him. The way you melt into his chest like second-nature, how your hands settle over his like they are keeping them in place. How immediately in his presence you feel calmer; the panicky, hurt feeling you were experiencing moments ago vanishing as if it were just a fleeting thought and not something that’s always in the back of your head.

Not in a possessive, ‘I need him to be mine’ kind of way, though.

More like, ‘Why won’t he be mine?’

“Hi,” he murmurs into your neck.

“Hi, baby,” you respond softly, out of habit. The room shirks around you whenever he’s near. Makes you feel like you’re in your own bubble with him.

Jeongguk’s about to reply, ask where the drinks are, but then he hears an annoyed scoff sound in front of you both. Jeongguk bristles as he looks up and sees Taehyung taking a big swig from his cup.

“Uh- am I interrupting? Should I go?” he asks hesitantly, looking between you and your friend.

“No-” you say at the same time that Taehyung says, “Yes.”

You cringe, and turn in Jeongguk’s arms, hands resting on his chest. “Just give me a couple more minutes okay? I’ll bring the drinks.”

Jeongguk searches your eyes, before looking at Taehyung one last time before giving you a stern nod and a quick kiss.

You turn back to Taehyung, ready to apologize for Jeongguk’s interruption, when he talks over you.

“You’re pathetic,” he starts, and you roll your eyes with an irritated sigh before he continues, “but I know you love him. And that you can’t help it,” he shrugs. “But as your friend, I have to tell you that it’s not going to end well. You probably don’t even need me to tell you that. You probably already know and are choosing to ignore it for the sake of the delusions you’ve made up in your ‘pretty little head’.”

You pout at him quoting you, and your brows furrow. “He cares about me. And he’s Jimin’s best friend. He’s a good person, you don’t even know him,” you argue defensively. Though you know your arguments make little sense and are flimsy at best.

Taehyung frowns. Pauses like he’s thinking.

“I didn’t say he was a bad person, and maybe he does care about you in his own messed up way. But he doesn’t care about you in the way that you want him to.” His lips are still down turned when he speaks again.

“And the difference between him with you and him with Jimin is astronomical; it shouldn’t even be a comparison, but I will humor you,” he rubs a hand up and down his face like he’s tired. “The dynamic is completely different, for obvious reasons. For one, Jimin is a safe relationship. You are not. Jimin isn’t in love with him, Jimin isn’t sucking his dick, and Jimin doesn’t want things from Jeongguk that Jeongguk cannot give, or does not want to give,” he says with a raised brow as he takes a sip of his drink.

It seems that the anger has died down some between you both, a semi-civil conversation finally being had. You wrinkle your brows in confusion at him. “What are you talking about?”

He rolls his eyes. “Cmon __. Why do you think he hasn’t made you his girlfriend? Why do you think he literally has not been in a serious relationship since high school? Why do you think he never agrees to anything more than 2 months out?” He waits for you to answer but you just purse your lips stubbornly. “He’s scared. Dare I say terrified of commitment, and that’s exactly what you want from him right?”

You stay headstrong and quiet for a moment longer, ignoring his question in favor of asking one of your own when you finally do speak up. “If I’m so scary, why hasn’t he left?”

Taehyung shrugs. “Fuck if I know? Maybe he does care about you like you say he does. I don’t think so, but hey,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, like he is throwing in the figurative towel. “Maybe you’re right and maybe I‘m wrong. Or maybe there’s some fucked up codependency fermenting between you both when you copulate. I genuinely have no clue, and frankly, I don’t care to find out. Don’t text me until you come to your senses. And don’t get mad when I tell you ‘I told you so’.”

And with that, he turns and leaves you to make your own drinks. You hope the smile you give Jeongguk when you find him is believable.

That night when you go back to his place, you voice your concerns to him in between sweet, heated kisses that taste like hot cider. You tell him hesitantly how Taehyung voiced his concerns about Jeongguk not caring about you and Jeongguk got a little irritated, a little miffed as he unlatched his lips from your neck. He asked what Taehyung knew, how he even came to that conclusion when he’s not around you both.

He assured you with gentle touches and tender words that of course he cares about you. He reminded you that he always makes time for you, he always answers your calls and your texts, he takes you out every now and then, too. He asks you what you think and when you contemplate your answer, going over what he said, you can’t really argue with him. Even if an uneasy, dismal feeling settles in the pit of your tummy.

~~~

hellooo!! again, this is just a scene and part of the plot that i chose not to use because i felt like the fic was already so long. i wish that i had ended up including it tho, so i hope you enjoyed even though its nothing special <3 feel free to do the things if you liked it: like, comment, reblog, send an ask~~ love u, ty again for helping me reach that milestone <3

[random1amfics]

Demon Tyrant of France (2)

Lila had a great week. The class was wrapped around her finger and that baker's girl can't do anything about it as Adrien seemed to be keeping her in line with that promise. Poor girl was desperate to do anything for her crush. Today, she will spin some tales of how Marinette was really mean to her offer of friendship and maybe get her so call 'friends' to punish her bad behaviour by destroying the girl's phone for her awful texts. As she skipped to the school, she didn't notice the tense air the other students seemed to have. She saw Alya, her ticket to increasing her fame, arguing with her boyfriend, Nino. He could be useful when she needs music for a party.

"I don't care if this Demon Tyrant person is powerful. We don't need another Chloe Bourgeois in our class. I am not going to stand for her tormenting us."

"Babe, listen, the Demon Tyrant will mostly ignore us because according to her, we are just mere insects. As long as we don't provoke her or anger her, we will be fine. The only thing I am worried about is whether or not you would get into trouble, you did some bad things to her recently and I really hope she is feeling generous."

"I couldn't have done things to someone I have never heard of until today."

"Oh, she had been in our class for the past 2 years. Apparently, she and a friend of hers had a bet on who can be kind for the longest. The bet was over last night. Chloe sent us about it last night."

"I never read what Miss Bully says."

"Excuse me," Lila cuts in, "What are you talking about? Who is the Demon Tyrant? She sounds bad."

"I will tell you on the way. Classes are about to start. But whatever you do, under any circumstances, do not, I mean, absolutely DO NOT talk to her unless she permits it."

The more Lila hears about the Demon Tyrant, the more she begins to envy the power she has over the school. Lila wondered which of her classmates was the Demon Tyrant. Could be Chloe but she can't be it, she had not been nice to their classmates at all. The one with the Roller Skates? She seemed to fit the Demon Tyrant name with the pink hair and roller skates but sometimes she didn't act nice. The Pink Blondie? She acts so nice and sickeningly sweet that she wouldn't be surprised if it was a facade.

She walked into the classroom, as confidently as she can to impress the so-called Demon Tyrant. Whoever she is, might want connections to spread her sphere of influence and they can rule together.

Lila and Alya saw Marinette with a complete makeover wearing a golden 'crown' that looked legit, looking down on the class like they were peasants from her high seat in the back. Their mouths hung open as Kim and a few others came, bearing offerings which they presented to her.

Lila gritted her teeth. Of course, that goody-two-shoes were the Demon Tyrant who ruled the school. At least now it will be easier to take all her friends away. She plastered a concerned face.

"Marinette, what are you doing? Demanding things from your friends? Friends shouldn’t expect things from their friends like that, especially something as expensive as that crown.” “First of all, Rossi, don’t call me by my name, I only allow certain people to call me that and you are not on that small list. Second of all, I didn’t ask for anything from them. They are called gifts. It was rather hypothetical of you to tell me not to expect free stuff from ‘friends’ when just last week, you basically demanded free pastries from the bakery. And lastly, this diadem ”-she gestured towards it-“is actually mine. I paid for it full price with my hard-earned money. I have a receipt if you don’t believe me. Since you are still new, I shall let it pass this time. But you will not speak to me unless necessary or with my permission.” Marinette said with a cold, icy voice.

“I can’t believe you are so mean to me. I just want to be friends and I am so worried about you when you are dressed like that.” Lila faked a few tears to sell the act. It’s perfect. She didn’t have to try so hard now that Marinette is doing a nice job by herself.

“I believe I have told you not to speak to me. Another word to me and I will make you deeply regret it.”

Alya spoke up, not liking Marinette’s new attitude, “Girl, Lila was just looking out for you. Don’t brush off her concerns and stop being so mean. I will admit I am worried about this new look too.”

“Cesaire, I will give you the same warning as Rossi there. You aren’t allowed to speak to me unless I say otherwise. Why should I change based on some people’s opinion of me? I am not mean, I am indifferent and cold to people. Haven’t you heard I am the Demon Tyrant? It’s part of the package. Life isn’t a fairytale and they all live happily ever after. Lila should be used to hearing cold, hurtful truths. After all, the famous deal with them all the time.” Marinette said with a bored expression on her face, already deeming this a waste of her breath.

Lila burst into tears and Alya was the only one to comfort her as the others were frozen in their seats and made no moves. Terrified for the backlash of helping the 2 girls. Even Nino, who loved Alya very much but prayed to every deity he knew to grant his headstrong, stubborn, justice-seeking girlfriend some common sense. She was playing with fire now and she was going to get burned badly.

Lila sobbed loudly, ”But I am not lying.”

“Marinette! Stop this at once. You can drop the act now. I don't know what you are trying to prove. Being a better Chloe? And we are best friends, we don’t need permission to speak to each other. Lila doesn’t lie. How could you say those things? Just because you are jealous, doesn’t mean you should do it. She is very sensitive.”

The Demon Tyrant grinned. It instinctively made everyone move away from her and Alya, who took a step back.

“Oh. Alya. Alya. Alya.” The first name means that the reporter had poked the Demon too much and now, she was annoyed. The Tyrant walked down, towards the two girls.

“You poor naive girl. With your strong sense of Justice and morals. I thought that we could have actually been friends. But you chose the wrong side when the time came. You should have listened to your boyfriend’s warnings when you had a chance. Let’s hope this one will get through to you. When I started this year of college, I had put up the perfect act of a sweet, kind and selfless girl all for a bet. You saw Chloe bullying that girl whom you protected and befriended. I remember many of our classmates pulled you aside to warn you of my true nature to spare you the heartache when the time came. I also told you one myself. That girl back then was not me at all and I tried to ease you into understanding that. But you were too excitable. You immediately put yourself into the category of ‘my best friend’ even though that title already belongs to my dear thief. You saw the various pictures of Gabriel’s design with Adrien as the model on my wall and decided that I have to get together with him when my heart had already been stolen by another. (Chloe fist-bumped the air. It was confirmed that her ship had sailed.) When Lila Rossi came with her grand stories, you chose to believe her over me. I will usually not admit something like this because I am too proud but it hurt when you went to her instead of me. The point is that you never stopped and listened, just going on ahead. Because if you did, you would have known that I was never your best friend. That I was never jealous of Lila over Adrien because I don’t even like him. That Marinette Dupain-Cheng isn’t even my real name and she doesn’t exist. And the lying. I haven’t accused her of anything like that. I am just calling her out for assuming the worst of me.”

The Demon Tyrant’s voice was like snow. Soft and melted easily. And so very very Cold. So much of it will knock one’s breath out. The room felt colder after the speech.

Alya stood as still as an ice statue, face-to-face with the Demon Tyrant. Her eyes averted as the blue eyes were so piercing like it could tear her soul to pieces. Lila had stopped her fake crying, thinking about who exactly had she declared an enemy of. She didn’t know if she wanted an answer or not.

“Cesaire, Rossi, I have many connections before I was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I have even more now. With a word from me and your careers will be destroyed before they even take off. If you have common sense, you will stay out of my way.”

“Is that a threat?” Lila asked.

The Tyrant lets out a laugh and meets their eyes, “No. It’s a promise.” She turned around and walked back to her seat like a regal Empress after giving out an execution order.

[sylvie-writes]

So Confused

word count: 1433

pairing: dad!steve rogers x wife!reader x sarah rogers

summary: steve and sarah get you a gift yet your husband is a bit confused as to what it is.

a/n: this is a birthday gift to myself hehe. i meant to get this out earlier but life happened lol.

please excuse mistakes this was written on mobile. the writing is very straight forward because i am tireddd.

For days on end Steve had been on mission. Not one for the Avengers, but rather for personal reasons per se. He was on the hunt for the perfect birthday gift for you. In the past he had always had no trouble but that was during the honeymoon phase and felt it was about time to step up his game, ever since your daughter had been born, that is. This year he has absolutely no clue what to get, but luckily he could enlist the help of his mini me who had the perfect gift in mind.

The two of them had snuck out this morning while you were still sleeping. Unfortunately they had to wait until the day of your birthday to get your gift because in the past you’ve had a knack for unintentionally finding the hidden presents.

-

“Are you sure this is it, little doll?” Steve and Sarah were standing in the middle of the home appliance store looking thoroughly confused by a cardboard box. The man’s hands were on his hips while his daughter mimicked the action.

“I’m sure, Daddy!” Sarah went to go wrap her arms around the large box since it was at her level, but it was heavier than she had intended it to be and instead looked up to her dad for help. He easily scooped it up as if it were a piece of paper.

“Well, if you are sure this is it, what is it for?” In one hand Steve held the white and green cardboard box and rested it against his waist while the other hand held Sarah’s hand to keep her close. As they walked to the checkout line, Steve’s eyes scanned over the big bold letters on the box that read “Roomba.”

“Silly Daddy! It’s a rowbot vacooooom.” The smaller blonde giggled at her dad’s confused face and he moved his gaze to look down at her with a goofy smile.

“Next!” The cashier called them next in line and Sarah broke away from her dad to run up to the lady and greeted her while Steve followed suit.

Mumbling under his breath he picked up his pace, “Wow, times really are changing.”

-

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMY!” Two lovely voices awoke you and a little girl jumped on the bed to snuggle up as a larger man sat beside you on the edge.

You greeted them both in return with a kiss to their cheeks before Sarah was readily sitting criss cross in your lap. Her tiny hand gave you a white envelope that had been colored in almost every color crayon you can imagine. In the child’s best handwriting, written in squiggly letters was your name along with a disproportionate heart that made you giggle. It was the kind of artwork that a parent valued because it was their child’s and not since it looked like Davinci’s art, heavens knew it was anything but that.

Opening the card made your heart melt as you read the wording in the card, ones in Steve’s expert cursive but Sarah’s own words. Steve’s handwriting was so elegant and old fashioned. You loved when he wrote anything for you, whether that be a note telling the dishes were clean or a letter he sent when off for work.

A tiny tear pricked at the corner of your eye for Sarah’s letter was so sweet and endearing, especially for such a young girl. You couldn’t have gotten a better kid. With much love, you pulled her into your arms and pressed messy kisses that tossed up her hair and made her laugh.

Next, Steve crawled into the bed a bit more when you scooted over for him. He handed you his own card that was, in fact, a letter written on fancy cream stationery with gold foil. It accented the jet black ink of the pen and the smooth strokes that came from Steve’s penmanship.

In his letter were words of appreciation to you for being the loving woman, wife and mother you were. You could tell it was straight from his heart. Steve was always so genuine and you loved him ever so for that.

Not even a second after you put the letter down and pecked Steve’s lips was Sarah excitedly clapping her hands.

“Momma! We got you a present!”

You cocked your head like an intrigued puppy.

“Oh really? What did you get, baby?”

She shook her head, “That’s not how it works, silly goose! Daddy has to get the gift and then you can open it!” Her words didn’t hold any malice or demand, just lots of excitement for giving a gift, that she knew was perfect, to her mom.

Steve quickly got up and returned in no time to your bedroom and placed a huge box wrapped in unicorn paper (Sarah’s doing) in your lap as your daughter had moved to the side.

She watched with much interest as you opened the paper slowly and your jaw dropped when you saw the box. Sarah was relieved to see your reaction.

Inside your box, it was a robot vacuum, something you had been dying to get as there was just not enough time to clean the house by yourself. Even with Steve and Sarah’s help, it was a constant struggle and this little device would help quite a bit.

You let out an excited squeal yourself, something that Sarah often did, and you launched yourself at Steve who was now standing at the bedside.

“Oh Steve! Thank you! I love you so much, I will literally have your babies. You surely know a way into my heart.” A million kisses were placed on his lips and he shook his head before you continued to shower him in affection. Actually, Steve was struggling really hard to not laugh and get the words of truth out.

“It wasn’t all me, sweetheart. It was really your daughter!”

You turned to your daughter and goofily ran over to her with open arms. Scooping her up off the bed you sound around with her in your arms.

Setting down Sarah, you returned back to Steve.

“You must think I’m so crazy, getting excited over a vacuum. God, I’m getting so old.” You made a sound of disgust towards the end and Steve laughed.

“If anyone in this house is old, it’s me. (Y/n) I don’t even know what this thing really does.” Steve widened his eyes for extra effect and you were shocked that he didn’t know. After all, he worked with technology far more advanced than this yet a cell phone could stomp him. He was such an old man and you never stopped teasing him about it. You were relentless with your jokes but Steve enjoyed them nonetheless.

“Oh, well, it’s a vacuum that goes around the house on its own. Y’a know so we don’t have to spend an hour every day doing it ourselves.”

He opened his mouth in awe while you both watched Sarah unpack the box.

“Ma would love this. I remember how bad she wanted a vacuum, just a simple one cost more than our grocery spendings.”

You intently listened to Steve’s short story of how his father had saved up to get his mom a vacuum for her birthday and you smiled at the irony of the recollection. Here their son was, doing almost the same thing for his own wife.

“Times have changed so much, darling, and I’m so glad I have you here to help,” Steve unwrapped his arm from your waist and instead turned to place his hands on your face.

“You are always so patient with me, I just love you so much.” With that, your husband kissed you slowly and for what seemed like minutes. That was until Sarah started to noisily take the styrofoam from that box that you both pulled away and turned to her.

She was awfully excited over the vacuum herself and you found it hilarious. Sarah caught you both glancing at her and waved you over to help with the styrofoam that was crumbling and looking like snow on the bedspread. No one wants to do laundry, let alone on their birthday so you both rushed over to prevent the mess from growing.

After setting up the device, you taught Steve how to work the vacuum from his cell phone, Sarah scrambled through a list of names and you found loads of entertainment in both of them. They were quite the pair and you were so glad to have them in your life, especially on your birthday

[separatist-apologist]

Um can I have a part 2 to Lucien finding out about solstice? Pretty please?

You can have a part 2. I was not planning a follow up to yesterday's little sass-a-thon but apparently everyone likes bratty Elain and irreverent Lucien.

--

--

Lucien woke wondering if he’d imagined the entire night with Elain. It certainly didn’t seem real. She’d barely said one word to him for a good year and some months only to turn around and tell him to eat shit. He wondered what it said about him that he liked it. Lucien groaned, kicking the blankets off his sweaty body like a petulant child. He was tired of waking up alone and more tired still having seen the fire lurking behind his mates’ eyes.

Lucien padded to the bathroom suite, still naked from sleep. He perched on the edge of the tub, turned on the hottest water he could possibly stand, and sank into the scalding water until everything but the top of his head was visible. He was supposed to leave today, back to the mortal lands. Back to sniping with Jurian and arguing with Vassa and daydreaming about Elain when no one looked at him too closely. He still had his apartment in Velaris. Perhaps, if today went well, he’d spend a week in Feyre’s starlit city.

He took his time dressing and grooming, still more than a little irritated with Azriel from the night before no matter how his angry outburst had worked in Lucien’s favor. He certainly would not be outdone in the one arena he knew he could run circles around the male in. Lucien had always had a sense for fashion and what worked well. He didn’t need to know Elain well to know it was something she appreciated about a male.

If Rhysand was surprised to see him that morning, he gave no indication as he handed Lucien the morning paper at the breakfast table. Their silence was companiable enough, sipping coffee while Lucien tucked away tiny pieces of information about Night Court he thought might use as leverage at some point. It was nothing the High Lord wasn’t willing to risk, given how he prized information himself, but Lucien never passed up an opportunity to keep himself well informed.

He felt strangely content in that moment until Elain swept in wearing a gown of pale, shimmering gold that was altogether inappropriate for the softly snowing day around them. Rhys glanced up at her from his cup of coffee, one eyebrow raised for all Elain seemed to notice. She had tea and a scone and, without a word to either of them, sat across from Lucien. Lucien’s eyes roamed what part of her body she could see; the long-sleeved dress seemed to be made of paper and exposed her shoulders and collarbone to him. His fingers twitched around his own mug as the mating bond woke with a vengeance.

Touch her touch her touch her touch her—

“Lucien,” Rhys interrupted Lucien’s musing. Elain kept her eyes focused on the wall behind him, her big, brown eyes framed by too-long lashes. Was she wearing make up, he wondered? Or had her lips always been so pink, so—“Feyre mentioned you were considering staying for a few more days.”

Elain’s eyes focused, glancing towards the High Lord. Had Feyre said that? He certainly hadn’t made any promises outside of his own mind.

“I have some business in the city,” he agreed, well aware Rhysand must know his only business was his mate.

“Are you planning to stay here? You are welcome to, obviously.”

Lucien shook his head as color began to creep into Elain’s cheeks. What was she thinking, he wondered?

“No, in my apartment,” he replied, catching how her eyebrows raised. Did she not realize he had one?

Rhysand’s violet-colored eyes shifted to Elain, his mouth curving into a smile. “I’ll have your things sent over, then. Please, feel free to stop by for dinner if you’d like. I know Feyre very much enjoys your company.”

Yeah, yeah, Lucien thought, still thinking of how Rhysand had shut Azriel down the night before. Not out of friendship, but politics. Still, it was better than tacit approval and, in some stupid, small way Lucien could appreciate the shrewdness.

Elain excused herself leaving Lucien to finish his breakfast and dress for the cold before making the trek towards his apartment. He’d try at dinner, he told himself. It would be easier to corner her somewhere alone, to let her lobby insults at him and, perhaps, kiss her on the mouth if she held still long enough for him to capture her face.

Lucien turned the lock to his apartment to find two things wildly out of place. His bags were sitting just inside the foyer next to a long, silver cape that was too feminine and small to belong to him, hung on the hooks beside the door. Just at the end of the hall, Lucien saw Elain in that same golden gown, arms crossed over her chest.

“I didn’t know you had an apartment,” she accused as he unwound his scarf.

“You never asked,” he reminded her patiently, his blood thrumming at the sight of her in his apartment. He could practically taste the argument floating between them.

Give me your worst.

“Must I do everything?” She asked him, arms crossed over her chest. He had to look away; she’d inadvertently caused her breasts to swell beneath her arms and Lucien was struck dumb at the sight.

“Not everything, no,” he replied, walking to the living room where she waited. “But perhaps something might be nice.”

She scoffed and Lucien dropped onto the cream-colored loveseat, stretching out his long legs as she watched her from the corners of his eye.

“I don’t owe you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, bored. “Why are you here, again?”

Because it was her, after all, standing in his apartment. She shifted, her boots still wet from the snow. She’d created a little wet spot on the hard wood beneath her feet. He would normally have cringed at that, but it was Elain, if she wanted to ruin her floors, who was he to stop her?

She bit her bottom lip. “To tell you how hideous you looked at breakfast this morning.”

Lucien laughed as he ran a hand down his chest. Elain’s eyes followed the movement. “Liar.”

She scoffed. “I’m surprised you fit in this little apartment at all, given the size of your ego.”

He couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward, carefully watching her expression. “You know, Elain, they say it takes one to know one.”

Her mouth dropped open again as she stood, stunned into silence for a moment. “You find me ugly?” She asked, dropping her arms to her side.

“Impossibly ugly,” he agreed, the lie rolling right off his tongue. Her cheeks flushed as he took a step towards her. He was going to kiss her, he decided. “And ill mannered.”

“It is your manners that are offensive,” she retorted hotly. “Though not nearly offensive as your face.”

Lucien hesitated, surprised by how her words stung a bit. It was a game and yet…she’d touched on something he’d privately feared from the moment Amarantha gouged out his eye. He could still recall, in the early days, how people recoiled when they saw the scarring, how even now people stared, surprised at the brutality etched into his face. He’d spent more than one night wondering if Elain too found him abhorrent to look at.

He arched a brow, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what he’d do if she truly thought him ugly. It would wound him far more than anything, short of a flat-out rejection of the bond. “Oh?”

Her eyes drifted towards his mouth. Lucien blinked, some of his fear ebbing. “Disgusting,” she murmured, inching closer. He held himself exactly where he was despite his muscles screaming in protest, demanding he yank her into him and kiss her senseless. “The ugliest man I’ve ever seen.”

“Liar,” he told her again. She blinked, head tilted, eyes half-lidded, her lips parted ever so slightly. This was what had gotten Azriel in trouble, wasn’t it? This moment, right here. He suddenly felt immense sympathy for the male. Lucien was also rooted in place, desperate to touch her, too.

“I know,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered closed the moment he reached for her face, holding her just as she was so he could kiss her. Words failed him the moment their lips touched, the world melting into nothingness. Whatever he’d thought, however he imagined that moment paled in comparison to the real thing. She was soft, her lips sweet. Every single piece of her seemed to radiate an invisible heat his blood recognized by contact alone.

Mate. Mine. His body sang, urging him to take things further, to strip her of her clothes and mark her with his scent so thoroughly no other male could get within a mile of her without smelling him, too. He had to stop himself, unsure what she wanted.

“You’re a shitty kisser,” he told her, forehead pressed to her own. Elain giggled, the sound ringing through his chest.

“You’re so rude,” she responded with a sigh. “How can anyone stand to be in your presence?”

“And yet here you are,” he reminded her, poking her in the stomach. “In my apartment.”

She looked around, her eyes taking in his furniture, his shelves of books, his artwork. “Why don’t you stay more often?”

He shrugged, unable to meet her gaze. “There is little for me to do here.” That was partially true. Why torture himself and sit around waiting on a female who had no interest in him? He wasn’t that much of a glutton for punishment. Elain stepped away, walking towards the wall length windows and pushing back the curtain. Gray, snowy clouds did little to hide the cheery day around them as fat snowflakes were carried along in a winter wind.

“I have been cruel,” she said after a moment. Lucien came up behind her, resting his hands on her delicate shoulders.

“Perhaps. But not without cause.”

She blinked, twisting her neck to look up at him. “It’s just a lot…even now.”

He nodded. “I could help, you know. I’m not your enemy.”

“What kind of help are you offering?” She asked as she turned around, letting him twine his arms around her body. His heart stuttered for a minute. Pretty, she was so pretty—

“Whatever help you’d like,” he managed to choke out. Elain smiled slyly.

“What if the help I want has nothing to do with being made?”

He was going to die, he thought. He cleared his throat. “Could you be more specific?”

She was mocking him. “I often struggle with the laces of my dresses, for example.” She gestured towards the back of her gown, neatly laced with a golden ribbon. Easily undone, he thought, his fingers twitching. It would take one pull to have her dress pooled at her feet. He brought his face closer to hers, well aware that his thoughts were likely not well aligned with what she really needed. Time. Space. Room to get to know not just him but herself.

“Sounds like you need a friend,” he murmured, brushing his lips across hers before dropping his arms and stepping away. She huffed a sigh.

“Do you treat all ladies so poorly?” She demanded. Lucien was back on the couch, legs stretched out as he willed himself to calm down.

“Only the ones I like,” he replied with a grin. Elain plopped down beside him and took his hand, much as she’d done the night before.

“Lucien?”

He’d never tire of hearing her say his name. “Yes, Elain?” She scooted a little closer, her eyes locked on his. She was looking at the scar, he realized. Panic flooded into his throat.

“I lied when I said you were ugly,” she confessed. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “And I like the scars. You’re beautiful.”

He reached for her chin, caressing her sweet face. Lowering his mouth to hers, Lucien told her, “Ah, well. It takes one to know one, now doesn’t it?”

[sgwrscrsh]

winter days: underneath the tree

☁️a/n☁️ this made my heart very warm to write even though i pulled an all-nighter to get it done because my time-management has gone to shit after finals. requested by @sachirou-senpai​. thank you, ellie, for giving me a reason to bring back my boys. i’ve missed ‘summer on you’ so much. this can be read as a stand-alone or as a spin off of ending b, my fave. either way, merry christmas to my babes who celebrate! i have one more christmas fic for tmr and then i’m hiding away to plan + write an smau.

includes: female!reader, poly!seijoh four, post-timeskip (very minor manga spoilers), lots of domesticity, a little suggestive bit, a lot of eating and sleeping now that i realize, a christmas tree, matching pajamas, a very special christmas gift, makki slapping your ass once, a lil teary moment w tooru, homemade curry + pancakes (but not together), lots of cuddling, lots of love, happy holidays, 4.35k words

☁️masterlist☁️

shivering slightly, you unlock the door to the rather spacious apartment you shared with your four boyfriends later into the evening than you would’ve liked. 

yes, four boyfriends. whom you love very much and are loved by in return.

living with four towering hunks has it’s ups and downs, but you wouldn’t trade tooru’s extensive skin care regiment sprawled across the bathroom counter; hajime’s bag of protein powder that he always forgets to put away; issei’s boots that you always tripped over when you came through the front door; or takahiro’s costco-sized box of cream puffs in the freezer that he insisted he would finish by the end of the month, almost half a year ago, for the world.

you made sure to stomp off the snow stuck on your boots before entering the building, but you couldn’t help but sigh at the warmth that greets you once you toe them off.

“ahhh,” you think. “thank goodness tooru convinced us to invest in heated floors.” another perk of having four boyfriends was that two of them brought in enough bank for you to seriously consider becoming their cute little housewife. snorting, you shake your head, though the idea of prancing around in a maid outfit to tease them seemed very appealing. “maybe we should make hiro dress up and clean the house since he still hasn’t found a new job yet.” 

“what’s so funny, sweets?” speak of the devil. makki’s head pops out from the bathroom nearest to the front door, steam rolling out and droplets falling from his hair, signifying that he had just taken a hot shower. wordlessly, you stare at him, lost in thought imagining the water caressing his toned body, but a second later, he gets a better look at you and laughs. “you look like a wet dog!” your glare loses some of its edge when he takes in your own damp strands. 

“did someone say something about a dog?” tooru comes bounding round the corner, and you could’ve sworn he drooped a little when he realized it was just you in the hallway sans dog. turning your icy glance on the setter, you open your mouth to complain about how mean the two of them were being to you when your prince charming comes in to save the day.

“you two, stop bullying the poor girl and let her take a warm bath before she gets sick!” iwa chides as he helps you unbundle the layers that protected you from the snow and sharp winds of the winter. pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead and promising to pick out comfy clothes for you, he ushers you into your spacious en suite where a steaming tub full of rose petals awaits you. hajime chuckles at the starry eyes you give him, heart warming at the love and appreciation shining clear as day on your face, before he leaves to grab a clean pair of underwear, one of issei’s t-shirts, and a pair of his own sweats, knowing you much prefer to wear their clothes at home.

submerged in the bath, you exhale contentedly, eyelids fluttering shut as you enjoy the product of iwa’s consideration and foresight. letting the stress of work and the chill of the outdoors melt from you, you stay in the water until it cools and your fingers prune. a lone thought of how much more you would’ve enjoyed the bath if the boys had joined you flits through your mind, but you jolt when you open your eyes and find issei sitting on the counter with a towel and your robe in his lap, some of the water sloshing over the side of the tub. 

“oh thank god, i was scared you fell asleep and would drown or choke on a rose petal.” you giggle while he wraps you up in your robe before gently toweling your hair dry. “you can’t leave me to deal with the three of them alone.” 

rolling your eyes, you retort easily, “if anything, i’d feel bad about leaving hajime to deal with the three of you alone. the poor man puts up with enough from his team, he doesn’t need you guys ganging up on him, too.”

“well i’ll have you know, sometimes he really enjoys us ganging up on him.” his cheeky quip paired with his wiggling eyebrows earns him a smack on the chest but regardless, you let him sweep you up into his arms and drop you on the massive bed the five of you shared. “get dressed, babygirl. as much as i’d love to spend more time with you naked, i gotta help haji finish dinner.” with a quick peck on your lips, issei leaves you to do just as he said. 

emerging revitalized and relaxed, your mouth waters at the smell of homemade curry, distracted enough to not notice tooru’s arms wrapping around your shoulders and waist. 

“hey, cutie, i’ve missed you,” he sings, face snuggled into the junction of your shoulder and neck. you spin around in his hold to slip your arms around his slim torso, relishing his firm lines against your soft curves. 

“‘ve missed you too, tooru.” and you really did, grateful that all of you were able to take time off work and he was able to come home a week before the holidays, giving the five of you a whole month to spend together before he had to jet back to argentina for his next bout of training and practice games.

“hell yea! group hug!” makki comes running towards you guys, only for you to twist out of his reach at the last second, sending him straight into the sofa behind you. “oof, that was cold, y/n.”

you stick your tongue out at the strawberry boy. “yea, well that’s what you get for laughing at me when i got home. sucker.” still entangled in tooru’s embrace, you feel his body shake with mirth and bite the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from dissolving into giggles when you see a pout take over hiro’s pretty face.

“dinner’s ready,” comes iwa’s call, beckoning the three of you into the kitchen before you could antagonize each other some more. once you all got your servings of curry, you settle into your proclaimed seats on the large sofa, your body comically small compared to their tall frames dwarfing the cushions. noting the way tooru threw his long legs over iwa’s and how mattsun and makki leaned against each other as they ate, you fold your legs to tuck your feet under takahiro’s thigh and dig in to your meal with some trashy reality show lighting up the tv screen, completely certain that the warmth in your chest was from the company of your loved ones more so than the piping hot potatoes in your stomach.

during breakfast the next day, you blearily rub the sleep out of your eyes before taking a sip of your coffee, a satisfied “ahhh” escaping your parted lips as you lean against the kitchen counter. slowly peeling your eyelids open, you notice all of their gazes were focused on you. “yes? can i help you?” you ask amusedly, awake now that caffeine had be introduced to your tired body.

“how are you still so gorgeous in the morning?” you blink at the dreamy look on iwa’s face propped up in his hands with his elbows on the surface of the island. looking around, you see the other three matching the athletic trainer’s pose and expression next to him. thinking over your messy bedhead, mysteriously stained pajamas, and almost impressively dark eyebags, you want to scoff, but the unfairly handsome men giving you their undivided attention despite all of that (“because of all of that, y/n-chan,” tooru would argue) make you blush instead.

“you’re one to talk, haji,” you opt to remark, hoping to divert their focus from you and your rosy cheeks. “and don’t look at me like that,” your pointed finger swinging wildly between the four of them like the needle of a compass. “you already know you guys are way outta my league, you don’t need me to tell you that.” with one last flourish, you wave your hand dismissively before grabbing your mug with both hands, palms warming against the ceramic.

“as wrong as you are, you can’t blame us for wanting to hear the love of our lives compliment us first thing in the morning as we admire her natural beauty,” mattsun grins once he sees the success his words have at deepening the flush on your face. tooru nods gravely in agreement, but it’s makki’s one-two combo of a wink and an air kiss that breaks you. you roll your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a laugh but release it immediately when the playful atmosphere takes a heady turn. clearing your throat, you pay no heed to their hungry expressions, knowing full well that they all noticed your little action and how they would react to it.

“a-anyways,” you stutter, “i’m gonna go get ready ‘cause i have things to do today so-” you try to slip by, leaving your empty cup in the sink, only to get caught in your tracks by hiro’s long arms. 

“ah, ah, ah, princess. and where do you think you’re going?” soon enough, you find yourself surrounded by your smoking hot boyfriends and heat up in anticipation of their next moves. 

“this so isn’t fair,” you complain aloud, though you were just as eager as they were to get you out of your worn sleep clothes. 

“tough shit, babygirl. guess you’re just gonna have to add four more things to your to-do list, huh?” 

naturally, you leave your errands for some day later in the week when you’re able to walk properly again.

the opportunity comes when you rise earlier than the rest of them, a rare occasion where you found yourself graced with the freedom of sleeping on the outside instead of being sandwiched in the middle of the bed. tiptoeing about, you brush your teeth and get dressed, somehow managing to not wake any of the sleeping beauties. you scribble little love-filled messages on post-it notes and stick them around your apartment on your way out, but not without one last soft smile in the direction of the bedroom, the sight of the four of them cuddled together through the door left ajar renewing your motivation to accomplish your tasks and come home sooner. 

with your laptop bag in tow, you set out for your first destination, settling into a corner booth at the coffee shop with a full cup and a pastry. once you finish your breakfast, you pull out your laptop and get to work, scouring the internet for the perfect gifts for your lovably imperfect partners. you rack your brain for any recollection of any moment where they would’ve let a potential present slip into conversation and light up when you come across volleyball print pajama pants. you check the availability of the sizes you needed and upon realizing that they were all in stock and would be delivered before christmas, you place your order without a moment’s hesitation. satisfied with your progress, you pull up the animal shelter’s hours before heading out of the cafe, the barista’s greetings and the jingling bells echoing behind you. 

by the time you return home, it’s late in the afternoon and you’re greeted by a wall of warm bodies as soon as you step through the front door. 

“where’ve you been, babe?” once again, takahiro is the first to meet your return, but this time he plants a sweet kiss on your lips with his long fingers encircling your waist after his inquiry. 

“oh, you know,” you sigh, dazed from the saccharine embrace. “out and about.”

“busy day? hope it was productive.” you nuzzle into tooru’s chest, feeling the timbre of his voice through your skin, and nod.

“as a matter of fact, it was.” their eyes soften at the proud grin stretched across your face. but your grumbling stomach just had to ruin the moment, making the three of you stare at each other before bursting out in chuckles.

“you skipped lunch?” oiks asks, wrapping each arm around yours and hiro’s waists and guiding you into the kitchen. you rub the back of your neck sheepishly.

“i guess so? i didn’t really notice i was hungry until now.”

“good thing we saved your favorite from that chinese place down the street for you,” mattsun comes up behind you and lands a kiss on the crown of your head. you beam gratefully up at him and skip over to the fridge to retrieve the takeout.

“welcome home, love,” iwaizumi emerges from the bathroom to complete the set and gives you a once over. “you look tired.”

“gee thanks, hajime.” he rolls his eyes playfully at you while you wait for your food to heat up in the microwave.

“what time did you get up this morning?” 

“uhhh,” you start, mouth full. at iwa’s stern glare, you swallow before answering, “seven-ish? earlier than i would’ve like for a vacation day but it was worth it.”

“hm, well i’m glad you had a good day at least.” you shuffle over to kiss his cheek before dropping yourself on top of where tooru and hiro were cuddling on the sofa, eyes drifting around the room to take in the holiday decorations adorning the space.

“thanks, haji. but you’re right, i am sleepy.” suppressing a yawn, you lean back against the broad chests behind you and tuck back into the paper container. “can we take a nap once i’m done?”

“sure thing, babygirl.” the innocent smile mattsun sends your way turns mischievous with his added comment. “we really tuckered ourselves out while you were gone.” you nearly choke but makki’s hand thumping your back helps you dislodge whatever food got caught in your throat. iwa shakes his head and looks to the side in an attempt to hide his face, but the reddening tips of his ears give him away. meanwhile, oikawa catches your eye and winks.

“how else did you suppose we keep ourselves occupied when our baby wasn’t home?” you get up to toss your now empty container, shaking your head as you go. 

“i’m glad to see you at least got the christmas tree up before going at it. god, you’re all insatiable.”

“i mean, it’s hard not to be in this relationship,” hajime grumbles.

“aww, iwa,” makki pushes his lips into an overexaggerated pout. “you make me hard, too.” full-bellied chortles escape the four of you, ignoring iwaizumi’s indignant huffs.

“whatever,” comes his miffed reply, but you know he takes all your antics in stride. soon enough, he returns to the living room with a stack of blankets and finds you and issei added to the pile of limbs tooru and hiro founded. somehow, hajime situates himself to fit perfectly in your cuddle fest, blankets sprawled about to keep you warm.

one last yawn leaves your mouth before you mutter a sleepy, “night, guys. love you,” barely registering the quiet “love you”s you get in return as you drift off, the lights adorning your christmas tree twinkling above you.

christmas day, you wake up before the others again, this time more than willing to feign sleep and revel in the warmth of your shared bed. luckily, you don’t have to wait long for your boys to stir. sitting up, you stretch your arms above you head and begin to climb out of bed only to be caught by the wrist and dragged back down.

“haji, please,” you draw out. “we can finally open the presents under the tree!”

“i don’t care, it’s too early for you to leave me, princess.” you hum as he pulls you closer to him, revisiting your mental note that iwa is much more openly (and selfishly) affectionate in the mornings. 

“oi, the rest of us are still here you know.” face buried against tooru’s back, mattsun’s muffled complaint gets hajime to loosen his hold on you. 

“yea, yea,” he props himself up on his elbow to lean over you and kisses the former middle blocker’s temple. “unfortunately.”

“so mean, iwa-chan,” oikawa pipes up, stretching his arm across you to caress your boyfriend’s toned arm before lacing his fingers with makki’s. the pink haired man himself, still half-asleep, squeezes tooru’s hand before sitting up.

“hey, wait. it’s christmas, isn’t it?” takahiro’s question reminds you of the package you received a couple days prior, prompting you to spring out of bed before one of them could reel you back in. the four watch you rifle through the closet and resurface with the pajama pants you ordered.

“merry christmas!” you cry excitedly, tossing each boy their respective pair and eagerly awaiting their reactions. “they’re matching pj’s! look, i got one for myself, too.” thankful that you chose to go to bed in just one of iwa’s godzilla t-shirts and underwear last night, you rush to slip on your volleyball print pants. the boys take in your childlike joy, chests tightening at how precious you are. “hurry up, i want you to try them on so we can match!” at your insistence, they roll out of bed and dutifully don your gifts. 

“oh these are actually really soft,” tooru murmurs thoughtfully, fingering the fabric on his thigh.

“right?” you pipe up, nearly bouncing off the walls. “i wanted to do something to commemorate our first christmas together in this apartment and i thought these were really cute since volleyball is what brought us together in the first place.” eyes meet each other as you all reminisce that special summer, grateful that you stayed close despite your individual journeys after graduation.

suddenly, the doorbell ringing catches your attention. a brief glance at the clock on the bedside table tells you it’s much later in the morning than you though, but you’re quick to answer the door.

“who could that be?” the boys are left wondering, wandering out into the living room in time to see you wave goodbye to whoever it was with a large gift-wrapped box sitting on the floor next to you. 

“babe? who was it?” tooru is the first to ask the question on all of their minds. 

“oh, just my best friend. they wanted to drop this off on their way to their parents’ house.” you gingerly pick up the box and bring it to where your boys were waiting for you. “go ahead!”

“go ahead?” hajime parrots. 

“yea! open it!”

“it’s not for you?” takahiro ponders.

“well yes and no. c’mon just open it already!” you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet at this point. tooru finally takes the initiative to remove the lid of the box, eyes widening when he sees what it hid.

“oh my gosh,” he breathes. the other three nearly knock heads with how quickly they lean over the opening.

“is that-?” a furry little head pops up over the edge of the box, round eyes peering up at the four of them.

“a dog! yes!” you squeal. “he’s a shelter dog!”

“he is?” hiro is in awe, slowly reaching out to cradle the little guy in his arms.

“i met him the other day when i woke up early and ran errands without you guys. isn’t he just the cutest?” big hands dwarf the small pooch as they gently pet his head and stroke his fur.

“does he have a name?” tooru has the good sense to ask. 

“mhm, the lady at the shelter said his previous owner named him ponyo.”

“ponyo…” issei whispered, eyes shining. 

“i know we’re nowhere near ready to start thinking about kids,” you start, the topic of the conversation instantly drawing their attention. tooru even ignored ponyo’s little tongue lapping at his fingers. “but i thought we could use an addition to our family.” 

“y/n, princess, we obviously all love him already, but we’re busy with work- well, most of us are. who’s gonna take care of him?” hajime questions, almost reluctantly.

“i mean, hiro is home all the time since he’s still unemployed (“i said i was looking, damn!”), but i actually got promoted so my schedule is way more flexible and i can work from home most of the time.” your voice trails off bashfully, but they give you no time to be embarrassed, swallowing you up in a huge hug. 

“why didn’t you say anything sooner, baby? we’re so proud of you!” now you know how the dog felt being smothered by their affection, not that it was anything new for you.

“uhh, surprise?”

“fuck yea, surprise! god, you’re incredible. lemme make a list of things we’ll need to get for ponyo once the stores reopen tomorrow.”

“actually…”

“you didn’t.”

“i did, with help from my best friend.” going into the lowest cupboards in the kitchen, you show off the bag of dog food and water and food bowls you bought soon after visiting the shelter. “his bed and crate are in the other closet by the washroom.”

“how did we get so lucky?” takahiro asks aloud, making you blush as the others nod in sync, all of them blown away by your thoughtfulness.

“this is nothing. i just wanted to show you guys how much i love you.” you play with your fingers, a little overwhelmed now that the initial excitement has worn off. “oh wait!”

“there’s more?” tooru asks, shocked.

“but wait, there’s more!” mattsun and makki chime in simultaneously, making you laugh as you retrieve the last present. you hop over to where tooru was sitting on the sofa with ponyo on his lap, scooping the dog up and locking the two of you in the bathroom. a couple minutes later, you open the door to let ponyo scurry over to his dads, who coo softly once they see him come around the sofa.

“when did you have time to do this?”

“my pants were a little long, so i hemmed them one night after you guys passed out on the sofa watching your old volleyball matches. i kinda guessed ponyo’s measurements based on standard info i found on the internet, but it fits perfectly so i’m glad!” looking at the little sweater you made for your new family member out of the extra fabric from your pj pants, you couldn’t stop the pleased grin that broke out on your face. “now even ponyo matches with us!”

while your gaze was trained on the tiny dog that was exploring his new home, theirs were stuck on you, your resemblance with a proud mother struck something in them, giving them thoughts of you with their children. yes, children. but for now they shoved those images to the backs of their minds, meeting each other’s stares to confirm they were all in silent agreement.

“we’re gonna make breakfast, you just sit there ‘n look pretty while you watch ponyo, yea?” issei announces before pulling you into a searing kiss as he walks by. 

“not that that’s hard for you,” iwa tags on, kissing your cheek and ruffling your hair following mattsun into the kitchen.

“but i’m always hard for you.” you yelp when hiro playfully slaps your ass, flipping him off as he trails after the other two with a loud hoot. tooru comes up behind you and rubs your sore cheek, spinning you around so that you were face to face.

“why’d you do this to me, y/n-chan?” you meet his frown with a confused look of your own. “now it’s gonna be even harder for me to go back to argentina.”

“oh, tooru,” you wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes to bring him close. “you have the next few weeks to spend with us and our new baby.” as if he knew you were talking about him, ponyo pads over to sit by your feet, tail wagging. oikawa sighs melodramatically.

“a few weeks is nothing compared to the months i’ll be gone!” 

“oi, shittykawa, you better not be complaining after everything this morning,” hajime hollers from the kitchen.

“love you, too, iwa-chan!” tooru calls back instinctively then he looks back down at you, his eyes giving away how much leaving will hurt him and it nearly makes you tear up with him.

“tooru, baby, it sucks every time you leave us, but you’re following your dreams and doing what you love. and we want to support you all the way, even if it means doing so from across the world. but with my new work schedule, i’ll be able to call or text you pretty much whenever. and just think how much sweeter it’ll be the next time you do come home to us. so don’t be too sad, okay, my love? we’ll all be here waiting for you.” 

as the last words leave your lips, tooru has you pulled flush against him, arms wrapped tight around your body. his face was hidden, but you could feel the sobs in hot breaths against your shoulder. you guided him over to the sofa and let him cry, petting his hair and peppering kisses on his tear-streaked face until he tired himself out. 

issei, hajime, and takahiro come out of the kitchen with stacks of pancakes and all the fixings, setting them down on the coffee table in front of you once they see tooru snoozing in your lap. iwa picks ponyo up before he could get a bite of your breakfast while you gently shake your boyfriend awake. mattsun and makki set up ponyo’s crate and bedding, leaving him with a toy to keep him occupied while the five of you filled up your plates.

sitting in the living room of the apartment you shared with your four boyfriends on christmas day, stuffing your face with fruit and whipped cream topped pancakes that they made, in matching pajamas with your new rescue dog scampering about, you couldn’t ask for a better gift underneath the tree.

taglist: @lovemeafterhrs​ @sachirou-senpai​ @honey-makki​ @kenmaki​

[glacial-snowflakes]

Subtle hum of the Hudson River - part 2 // Loki

A/N: Hi darlings! I'm sorry for not posting but I kind of don't have that much time rn :( I'm so so sorry! I hope you like it! <3

Here is part 1

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Word count: 2,5k

Summary: You and Loki take a stroll down the river, letting yourself be honest with each other. The words you spoke have an unexpected result.

WARNINGS: it's all fluff, don't you worry!; parts written like this are retrospection

Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. It’s really motivating <3

Outrage and disgust filled every little whisper he heard. The team's looks were so sharp that they could cut one's skin open. Sighs full of hatred. Snarky remarks, supposedly innocent, yet hurt like hell. Why would anyone care about God of Mischief? Yes, he might live in the Tower, and yes, he might call himself one of the Avengers now, but he would never belong. Never. Not after what he did.

"They will never trust me, won't they?" Loki asked Thor, his sight focused on a cup he was holding in his frozen hands. The tea wasn't hot anymore. It went cold just like his heart that had never known the warmth of love. Trickster raised his eyes to meet Thor's. God of Thunder could swear that for a moment, he saw despair painted onto his brother's pale face. "I thought you didn't care about them nor their attitude towards you."

"I don't." The raven-haired man said immediately but seeing his brother's smile made him speak the truth. "I hate the way they look at me. I know what I did, and I deserve it. It's just— Nevermind." Loki sighed and took a sip of his cold tea. Speaking about his feelings was never his strong suit. Opening up to someone and spilling his guts felt like a nightmare he didn't want to experience at all costs. Runaway was the best choice.

"If you want to gain their trust, start with Lady Y/N. She's the most perfect for being the first one to break the ice with. Believe me." Thor gave his brother a clap on the back and nodded. "Go on."

"She's holding a knife right now. I am the one who stabs, not the one to be stabbed." Loki muttered. Thor's look said everything. In response, God of Mischief just rolled his eyes, stood up, and slowly approached you. You seemed so focused on the meal you were preparing that you didn't even notice him at first. He cleared his throat. "Lady Y/N."

You snapped out of the trance you were in just a few seconds ago. You lifted a knife you were holding in your hand. It was all covered up in ice, even sharper than the kitchen utensil itself. You held it up in front of your face as you were breathing rather heavily, scared of the sudden voice that made you come back to earth with a bump. Loki could swear that for a moment, your eyes turned impeccably white, just like the snow you could summon whenever you wanted.

"I— I'm so sorry, I didn't want to scare you. I truly mean it." Loki said immediately, waving his hands, the visible awkwardness painted onto his face.

"No, no! It's not your fault." You smiled to assure him that everything was fine. "Whenever I'm cooking, I'm in a trance. Just me, food, my mind free of all the bad thoughts that have been haunting me." You waved your hand in which you were holding a knife, and the ice melted away, just like that, not leaving any mark behind. Loki gave you a subtle nod and asked. "What are you cooking?"

"Oh, I won't tell you." You blurted out, which was followed by the awkward silence. "It's because I'm making my secret dish. Y/N's secret delicacy. No one knows what's inside except me." You explained in the blink of an eye. Loki seemed to be a little bit confused. Oh boy, you weren't good at small talks either. "If you want to, you can stay and sit here. We can talk about whatever you want or, if not, we can sit there in silence. It depends on you."

A sweet, delicate smile appeared on your face. You knew it was hard for Loki. You could see that. You noticed these quick looks he was giving whenever someone whispered his name. You noticed his need to be included when you were in a group, but everybody seemed to be ignoring him. Nobody wanted him to participate in meetings or conversations. He was in a crowd, yet he felt like he was all by himself. You saw all of this, and it made you feel bad. You knew what he did, but in the end, he was one of you now. Every god could bleed, and it hurt you to watch.

You wanted to make the raven-haired man feel better. Even if you were the only one to do this and every other person was about to judge you, you wanted Loki to feel included, to feel important. You promised yourself that it would be YOU who will make Loki feel welcomed, welcomed in a place where everyone pushed him away.

"Can I ask what your exact powers are?" Loki started the conversation, and you couldn't help but smiled. He truly wanted to talk with you. How adorable.

"I'm a demigod with cryokinetic powers. It would take a lot to talk about my abilities, but I will tell you that my favorite one is making ice daggers. Quick and simple, though it took some time to master the perfect shape." You chuckled. "Learning to aim ideally in a battle to cut through a chest and freeze someone's heart was the most problematic part."

"I didn't know you are so violent and tough."

"I am not... I guess I pretend to be." You said quietly, not looking upon a cutting board. A deep sigh escaped your mouth. "You know, it's not a job for everyone. Sometimes I'm too gentle for that."

You didn't let the silence last forever, as you immediately asked. "How do you find yourself here? Do you like the Tower?"

"Ah, you know... It has changed since the last time I visited." Loki said, clearly ashamed of all the damage he did back in 2012. Till these days, the thought of the Chitauri ravaging New York gave you the shivers. It was a very demanding and traumatizing first day of work as the Avenger.

"A renovation was a must." You joked; to clear the air and shoo away the atmosphere that was creeping towards you. "What about your room?"

"If you can call a small couch in Thor's bedroom my room, then I guess it's okay."

"You sleep on Thor's couch?" It was something that surprised you and not in a good way. You got that Loki wasn't everyone's favorite member, but there was a ton of empty bedrooms in the Tower in which he could live.

The God of Mischief nodded. "It's not that bad."

"I don't care. I will talk to Tony. You have to have your own bedroom. It's not like you can sleep on his couch forever. It's not comfortable in the long run." Loki opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. "I've got it covered, don't worry."

There was something in talking to you that made Loki feel at home. The way you looked at him; gave him the sweetest and prettiest smiles he has ever seen. There was no hate in your voice, no disgust that he's been experiencing on a daily basis since he could remember. You actually treated him like a human being, despite everything he has ever done. There was only one person he knew with such a kind heart, and you reminded him of her; you reminded him of Frigga.

"You know..." Loki begun. "I feel like you are the only one that doesn't want to cut my throat or stab my heart with my dagger."

You smiled gently. "I think you deserve a second chance."

"And why is that?"

"This is a story for another time."

***

"Where do you think you two are going?" Tony asked when you and Loki approached the elevator. God of Mischief gave him a quick stare before pushing the button with an arrow pointing down. You turned your head to face Tony, who was making himself a coffee. "We're going on a walk." You answered with a smile on your face.

"It's almost midnight."

"Said a man with a cup of coffee in his hand." You chuckled. "We're going to be fine. He's a god, and I'm a demigod. Nothing bad will happen to us."

You knew that it wasn't you who Tony was worried about; he still didn't trust Loki. When you joined the Avengers, you were one of the youngest in the group. Fresh blood, you could say. Stark watched you growing from an impulsive, careless kid with ice powers to a deliberate adult, a demigod aware of her cryokinetic strength. Seeing you change over the years, he felt responsible for your life. Even if Man of Iron knew you could handle yourself, Loki was too powerful. Tony refused to believe in his change, and with it, he was afraid that the Trickster was purely playing with you. If only they saw Loki as you did.

A few minutes later, you two were strolling down the New York. Just you, Loki, and the subtle hum of the Hudson River that made your troubled hearts feel at peace. Slowly paced steps. Your knuckles barely brushing each other woke up armies of butterflies in your stomachs that went on war. If you were bold enough, you would grab his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers together, holding him like it was the end of the world. It was something you truly wanted from the moment Thor brought him into the group.

"So..." Loki cleared his throat. "If you want to, we can talk or, if not, we can walk in silence. It depends on you."

"I'm not ready, not yet... I'm sorry."

"Don't you ever be sorry for not being ready to talk about your feelings, Lady Y/N." Loki grabbed your wrist and made you stop your steps. "Ever, okay?"

Something was mesmerizing in his beautiful eyes and a worried smile. Something that made your heart beat faster; palms get sweaty and clammy. Something that made you agree to everything he said. It was like a trick, but not like the ones he did from time to time to piss of Thor or Tony. No.

You snapped out of it and nodded. "Okay." You said and took your wrist from his hand. You began to walk again with Loki by your side when he asked. "Lady Y/N. A few months ago, I had asked why I deserve a second chance. You'd never gave me an answer. I'd still like to know."

You smiled, looking at the tiny waves on the river. "I knew you'd asked that sooner or later. I think I can finally tell you why I think this way." Your eyes focused on his face now. "Okay... Let me tell you something. It's not a surprise that you've made some pretty bad decisions in your life, and you've hurt a lot of people. You think you're a monster, and you don't deserve to be loved. You were never more wrong.

"In this group, you probably won't find one spotless person. We are people that made huge mistakes. You don't have to look far." You grabbed his hand without thinking. It was an impulse that just felt right. "I was a reckless kid when I got these powers. No one was there to guide me through them, learn how to be in control. And to a bullied kid like me, it was something that made me feel better than others. I was the one on the top. With my mortal mum that couldn't handle the demigod kid and my godly father that had so many half-blood children he didn't give a shit about, no one could stop me. The bullied became the bully. I don't like to call myself that, but this is true. I went through hell, and I made sure they felt the same way. I'm not proud of it, but that is who I was.

"So you have me. And then there's former HYDRA's witch, a billionaire who made deadly weapons, former Russian spy, former HYDRA's most famous brainwashed assassin and etcetera. Welcome, you're just as messed up as we are. Being here with us is your chance to become a better man. You belong here, Loki. Trust me."

At that moment, something broke inside of him. For a second, he stopped being a mysterious, private God of Mischief that didn't want to let in anybody. He let go of all the concerns and worries that had been occupying his mind for far too long. He threw away the image of a monster he considered himself to be.

The words you spoke made him realize that as long as you were next to him, there was nothing he couldn't do. You were the key to his pure heart from the beginning. You were the answer he'd been looking for all along. You were the light that could sweep away the darkness that'd been consuming him from within, and he wanted you to shine beside him forever.

When Loki leaned over to your ear, all you could feel was his warm, shaky breath on your neck that sent the shivers down your spine. "Don't hate me for this." He whispered almost inaudibly as his hands found their way to your hips. His long, lean fingers quite roughly pressed onto your skin. Just like electricity, his touch pierced through your whole body, made your knees get weaker. Your senses were fogged, almost like you were under control. All you could focus on was how his mellowy soft lips felt against yours. The kiss was sweet and passionate, yet gentle at the same time. It wasn't hasty and rough like you'd expect it to be, no. There was something else, something special about it. It was Loki's way to describe every little feeling he had for you. Your adorable smiles you'd been giving him, slight touches you didn't even think he noticed, tea and sympathy. It was all for what he wanted to return the favor.

For a moment, you weren't sure if this was real. Was it just a pure imagination of your mind that was thirsty for love and affection? Or maybe it was a trick, fake reality that you'd fallen for so naively? No, it couldn't be. You could feel it. Feel your heart crazily pounded like it wanted to escape the cage in which it was held for far too long. It was the only thing that helped you stay sober.

You didn't want to stop this. You wanted to stay in this moment forever, scared that once it ended, it would never come back.

"Loki..." You started when you two pulled out to catch a breath. "I could never hate you for making my dreams come true."

The raven-haired man didn't say anything. In response, he wrapped his arms around your still weak body and brought you even closer, so there was no space left between you and him. You felt his chin gently placed on the top of your head. With a smile on your face, you embraced him tightly and snuggled your face onto his chest. All that you heard was his heart pounding fast in the same rhythm as yours, as the subtle hum of the Hudson River accompanied your feelings growing for each other at that moment.

tag: @handmaiden-of-mischief @amiechuchu

[ickle-ronniekins]

home for the holidays || christmas promises

A/N: hiii everyone! ya girls are here to provide a christmas collab entitled “home for the holidays” that we couldn’t stop freaking out about together like a bunch of dorks. we’ll each be writing two installments each for a four-part total series! alexa ( @harrysweasleys ) will be posting chapter two! super excited for this and thank yoooou to alexa for being just as excited about this collab and for being so patient with my wacky schedule!

desc: would it really be christmas at the burrow without a snowball fight just as the clock strikes midnight on christmas? fred’s happy to have you at his favorite place during his favorite time of year, and the excitement of the holidays seems to have him in a lovey-dovey mood.

pairing: fred x reader

word count: 1.4k

alexa and erica’s combined taglist(s): @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @keoghans @acciotwinz @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @thoseofgreatambition @sleep-i-ness @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hollands-weasley @andromedaa-tonks @cappsikle @mytreec @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @annasofiaearlobe @alwaysasadaesthetic @starlightweasley @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @hannalannno @heavenlymidnight @msmimimerton @oh-for-merlins-sake @grierpilots @mikumana @pit-and-the-pen @diary-of-an-onliner @theweirdsideofstuff @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @phuvioqhile @marvelettesassemble @almostweepingbanana

“Fred! Y/N! Would you two get back out here! Ginny, blimey, can’t you wait a moment before sending another one my way? Bloody hell!”

George’s yelps echoed from outside the Burrow. His voice sounded very loud, because that’s how it always seemed during a snowfall, didn’t it? It always seemed especially quiet as the ground became covered in a blanket of sparkly white. It’s as if the falling snow could silence the entire atmosphere.

You tried to push Fred toward the snowball fight that was unfolding between his siblings, but he yanked you back to him and pressed you against the side of the house, hidden beneath the shadows of the night. The faint light of the moon highlighted his twisted features of hunger.

“Fred, they’ve called us five times now, I reckon we’ve got to get back out there, haven’t we? Besides, poor George is getting absolutely pummeled by your sister,” a laugh escaped you as you watched another snowball smack George right across the head. He groaned in frustration and shoved Ron into a nearby snowbank for laughing at him.

“Don’t care, that game’s for children anyway,” Fred told you. You could see his breath in the air and it was becoming increasingly difficult to not pull him into the nearby garden shed.

You snorted. “Says the boy who suggested it in the first place.”

“It was only so I could get you alone out here, actually.”

Fred revelled in the sneakiness of your actions. His parents were just inside, his siblings a few mere feet away, and yet he was about two bloody seconds away from pulling your jacket right off --

“Freddie!”

He hummed against your lips and listened intently for that moan he knew all too well, the one that sent him into a dizzying spiral each and every time he heard it. “Can’t help it, love,” he cooed as you pushed playfully against his chest. He secretly loved it, you fighting your own overwhelming instincts and trying to shove him away from you, despite yourself, because he knew how much you wanted it too. Your eyes glistened with obvious yearning.

Against your better judgement, you decided to indulge your own hunger and yanked him closer by the collar of his jacket. “What’s the matter, Freddie? Didn’t get enough last night?”

A slight sigh escaped him and he was immediately transported to your final evening in the castle before returning home for the Christmas holidays. The copious amounts of firewhisky had earned him a night full of heated kisses and a morning filled with a throbbing headache. But here he was, just hours later, and it was nothing that the feeling of your lips on his couldn’t cure. Though, as his mouth moved against yours, he began to feel drunk all over again.

He trailed his hands across your hip bones and underneath your shirt a bit, his fingertips grazing your exposed skin. It’s as though every part of him that touched you was setting you on fire. “No, darling, I definitely did not get enough.”

“Okay, then let me make you a promise.”

You piqued his interest. Fred pulled away but kept close as he waited for your proposition. He couldn’t help but notice the sparkle of the snowflakes that had fallen onto your eyelashes, and how the tip of your nose and cheeks were so rosy from the cold weather. If he didn’t get you alone, and really alone, quick enough, he felt like he was going to spontaneously combust.

“If you behave, and help me obliterate Ron for getting me square in the gut with a snowball, then maybe we can pick up where we left off last night sometime later.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at you as he raked his teeth through his bottom lip, eager for later to be right bloody now.

He nearly growled before pushing you back up against the side of the house, his mouth eagerly finding yours again, before a rogue snowball (definitely charmed by one of his siblings) smacked him right in the side of the head. He heard Ron, George, and Ginny fall into a fit of raucous laughter before running out of sight yet again.

He rolled his eyes and turned back toward you, nearly melting at the sight of your sparkly eyes and rosy cheeks. You sniffled a bit -- the cold always did make your nose a little sniffly -- and you pulled gently on the collar of his jacket. He felt heat rise up in his legs, into his stomach and his arms, and finally felt his face flush a crimson red, all because of how absolutely bloody adorable you looked into your little pompom hat and scarf that was far too large it looked like it was swallowing you whole. And yet, you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“What?” you asked, raking your bottom lip through your teeth at the sight of him going googly-eyed.

“Nothing,” he said quietly before tightening his grip around your waist and resting comfortably against you, his breathing finding synchronization with yours. “You know mum’s been absolutely dying to have you here, and for Christmas, no less.. I reckon she’ll even make you a sweater.”

You arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Well that’s kind of her,” you replied, the rosy colour of your lips resembling that of your cheeks, and Fred found himself internally whining and desperately trying to suppress his feelings of eager want down into the depths of his soul. Later. You were making it bloody difficult though, especially when you said, “I’d love my own sweater knitted by your mum. But there’s nothing quite like wearing yours.”

It sent his heart soaring. He honestly felt himself dropping to his knees with weakness, and he swore to himself that if he had a ring, he’d ask you to be his wife right then and there -- no script, no plan, just unwavering love. He leaned himself further against you to hold himself upright and you giggled teasingly at the weight of him on top of you.

He knew how much you loved wearing his sweater. Or any of his clothing, really, but especially the cozy sweater. You wore it more than he did, actually, but he didn’t mind. Looked way better on you than it did him, didn’t it? He loved how the sleeves were so long it went past your hands, how the oversized material hung loosely over your body, but in that adorable type of way he loved to see each and every time you two would wake up from a nap in the school dormitories. But if there was one thing he loved more than seeing you in it, it was taking it off of you.

Bloody hell, mate, pull it together.

He bit down on his lip and jokingly pulled your hat further down your head so it was almost covering your eyebrows, and you scrunched your nose and giggled, once again making the butterflies in his stomach dance around in delight. “I’m really happy you’re here.”

You batted your eyelashes at him, “Freddie boy, how can you go from being so incredibly alluring to so sweet and sincere in mere seconds?”

“Dunno,” he replied, ignoring the calls from his siblings again, “but I reckon it’s one of the reasons you fell in love with me, right?”

He meant it as a joke, as he did mostly everything. He expected you to laugh, or to playfully punch him in the gut, but was pleasantly surprised when all you did was blink as the gentlest of smiles tug at your lips. “Of course it is.”

Just then, in the quiet stillness of the night, you both heard the church bells in the village begin to ring, signaling midnight and the official start of the holiday.

Cheers from the front yard erupted, and by the look in your eye, Fred could tell that you figured you should both get back out there and celebrate with the rest of them. He agreed, but he forced just a few more seconds, testing fate or destiny or whatever it was, and as you began to walk out toward them, he gently spun you around and caught your lips with his. There was nothing hungry or wild about it; it was, if anything, one of the purest exchanges you’d both ever shared.

When you both pulled away, you hovered close to one another, your breath visible in the cold winter air, and Fred made sure to keep his hands wrapped around your neck and entangled in the strands of your hair. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, gently, tenderly. His voice was so soft, so quiet, his words gently landed in your ears like the snowflakes soundlessly melting into the ground. “I love you, beautiful. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Freddie.”

[highlifeboat]

Oh Look Part 2

Since at least one person wanted it, here's a part 2 to this angst. Alcina finds Bela, and feels guilty for yelling at her. (Hurt/Comfort time)

Alcina chased after Bela, her two younger daughters buzzing in swarms a little further ahead of her. She was still frustrated with the girl, but the longer they chased her the more it started to slowly melt into concern. She didn’t understand. What had changed in her sweet little Bela to make her lash out in such a way? Bela had always been a soft spoken child, with a rather troubled mind if she were honest, and her sudden shift in attitude had been a concern to her and her other two girls for some time. Cassandra and Daniela made jokes at first that their big sister was finally growing a backbone, but it became significantly less funny the longer it went on. She had gone from being rather calm and collected to being temperamental and on edge. She seemed shaky and tired, as if she wasn’t getting enough sleep, but every time Alcina tried to ask her about it Bela shut her out completely. It was rather disheartening, seeing her daughter’s health decline and not even knowing what was wrong to try and help.

Cassandra and Daniela suddenly came to a stop, each stumbling back from where the main entrance to the castle was. Alcina realized why when she felt the cool breeze drift in from outside, and her blood suddenly ran cold.

“Does she have a fucking death wish?” Cassandra hissed, and Alcina wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to that.

“Stay here.” She stated firmly as she pushed past them, rushing out into the night.

The wind felt harsh as she raced down the path from the castle, trying to listen for any sign of her eldest child. Surely she couldn’t have gotten far. “Bela!” She called, and her voice echoed back. “BELA!” She couldn’t bear the thought of one of her children catching their death to the elements. Not after so many years of watching them grow and shape into who they were. Not after the blood, sweat, and tears she put into raising them. Not after she’d said she was disappointed in them. Alcina pursed her lips. If she knew Bela was going to run off she wouldn’t have been so harsh. It was just a toxic mix of frustration and worry. She wanted her baby girl back. “Bela, please!”

A horrifying scream answered her, and Alcina’s pace increased tenfold. “MAMA!” It twisted her heart into a tight knot to hear such a screech come from her eldest daughter. She stopped at the edge of the vineyard, eyes quickly scanning the area until they landed on a shaking silhouette.

“Bela!” The closer she got to the girl, the more her heart sank. Bela had curled in on herself, her face hidden in her knees and claws sank into her skull, blood turning the roots of her blond hair a crimson red. Her skin was nearly as pale as the snow itself, and starting to crack. Alcina was almost afraid she would break if she touched her. Soft whimpers escaped the girl when Alcina knelt in front of her and pulled her into an embrace, hoping the shielding from the wind mixed with her own body heat would at least help somewhat in keeping her warm. Bela didn’t even stir, and she leaned against her mother like a lifeless corpse. “Hold on, little bug. You’re going to be fine.” Alcina muttered to her as she stood, beginning to rush back to the castle. At least now the wind was to her back and she could protect her child from the worst of it. “You’re going to be fine.”

She wasn’t sure if she was saying that for Bela’s sake or her own.

Alcina practically kicked open the door to the castle when she got back, startling her two younger daughters, who stared at her with wide eyes. The surprise quickly shifted to horror at the sight of their older sister. Before anything was said she was barking orders at them, telling them to find her the warmest blankets they could, and to be fast. Something she would normally get a maiden to do, but there wasn’t time to hunt the useless creatures down. Not with Bela so close to crumbling in her arms. Her daughters would be faster, anyway, rushing off in swarms as Alcina knelt in front of the fireplace and huddled with her eldest child.

She finally had a clear view of the cracks that had begun to decorate her daughter's exposed skin, and it brought her to tears. “Oh, Bela….” She gently pressed her forehead to the blonde’s, letting out a shaky breath. “My sweet, intelligent, beautiful, Bela…” What would she do if she was too late? If Bela turned to dust before her eyes? She would never forgive herself. “I’m so sorry….” She whispered. “You’re such a strong girl…” She wasn’t even sure if Bela could hear her. The girl’s body was limp, and the only indication that she wasn’t completely gone was that none of the damage seemed to be getting any worse.

That said, it didn’t seem to be getting much better, either.

“I love you.” Alcina told her, gently rubbing Bela’s arms and back in hopes of warming her up faster. “I love you… I love you.” She was met with silence, and she choked back a sob.

It felt like they were there for hours until the sound of her two younger daughters returning caught her attention. They can come running back, dumping two armfuls of blankets on the floor beside her. Alcina wasted no time in swaddling her daughter, wrapping her in the blankets as if she were a baby before going back to holding her tightly against her body. Cassandra and Daniela joined her, even if they didn’t give off the same warming effect as their mother. They stayed like that for most of the night, but Bela didn’t wake up.

The cracks in her body slowly healed, but her skin didn’t seem to regain any colour. Alcina moved the girl to her bedroom, providing extra blankets and anything else she could to keep the girl warm. She had tried to feed her, but Bela didn’t even stir at the smell of blood. A day passed, and she caught Daniela sitting by the bed and reading to her sister. Some poetry, it seemed, one of Bela’s favourites. Another day passed and she found Cassandra talking to the blonde. Apologizing. Saying she never meant anything by all the harsh words she’d said over the years. By the third day they were getting worried Bela would be stuck in comatose.

Then, on the fourth, while Alcina was sitting by her daughter’s bed, her younger two sleeping in a nest of blankets and pillows they had dragged into the room, Bela stirred. A small groan came from the blonde, catching her mother’s attention as she squinted open her good eye. It was silent for a moment as the girl seemed to be precessing where she was.

“M… Mama..?” She sounded so hoarse, but Alcina’s heart still swelled at hearing her voice.

“Bela….” She felt like she might cry, and pulled the girl into a tight hug. “My sweet girl. My little bug, I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Mama…” Bela sniffled, returning the hug. “I’m sorry-I'm so sorry! I never meant-I didn’t-I don’t-” Alcina hushed her, gently petting the girl’s hair.

“No, little one, I’m sorry.” She retorted. “I never should have gotten so upset with you. I love you so, so much.”

“I-I love you, too. A-And I'm sorry for… For everything I said. I just… I didn’t want you to think I was clingy, or weird, o-or overbearing, or that I.. needed help… .” Bela pulled back from the hug to wipe her years with her shirt sleeve. “B-But it just… started to feel like this… crushing weight, and I…”

Alcina was confused for a moment, before the realization hit her, and her daughter's shift in behaviour suddenly made sense. Bela had overheard her discussion with her sisters. “Oh… sweetheart….” She let out a small sigh, and gently held Bela’s face. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that….” She brushed the hair away from the girl’s eyes. “Bela, I love you just how you are. We all love you, your sisters and I…. We’re just concerned. I care about you, Bela, so much, and I’m glad that you think so fondly of me, but you shouldn’t neglect your needs just trying to earn a bit of praise. It isn’t good for you.”

Bela started to fidget with her hands. “I… I know….” She sniffled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me….”

“You have a busy, anxious, little mind, my girl.” Alcina stated fondly, pulling her into another hug. “But that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, I’m just happy you’re still with us.”

“Me too…” The blonde returned the hug. “...Mama?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“I’m starving.”

Her mother chuckled. “I’m sure you are. Wait here, I’ll fetch you something to eat.”

By the time Alcina returned to her daughter’s bedroom, a fresh glass of blood and plate of meat in her hands, Cassandra and Daniela had woken up and tackled their sister in a shared bear hug. If it wasn’t for the quiet sound of Bela laughing, Alcina might have been afraid they were squeezing the life out of her. A small smile spread across her face at the sight.

Hopefully this meant things could get back to normal.

[forever-rogue]

Hot Chocolate Kisses

A/N: It’s nothing much, but it is something so tender and soft. I love Frankie and fluff! Why not have both? Tis a little thank/happy holiday gift from me to you. Enjoy 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: pregnant reader, references to sex, sweet sweet fluff!

FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Good morning," the sound of his soft voice accompanied by the feel of his arms around your midsection was enough to make your heart flutter. He placed a soft kiss to your shoulder before resting his head there and humming in content, "how are you, honey bee?"

"Good morning, mi amor," you replied softly, taking one of his hands that had been resting on the gentle swell of your belly and bringing to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, "I'm perfect. What about you, Frankie? Did you rest well?"

"Like a dream," he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before reluctantly letting go and moving towards the coffee pot. Once he poured a cup and made it to his liking, he came over, and followed your line of sight out into the yard.

There was nothing but mountains of glittering snow coating the entire neighborhood as far as the eye could see. Small children were already playing outside, all bundled up in thick snow jackets and woolen hats, while dogs ran around their yards barking and biting at soft, fat flakes that were gently drifting down from the heavens.

"Record snowfalls," you looked at him with excited eyes, "which means we are snowed in and work is canceled. Do I even try to pretend to be upset?"

"Hell no," his smile was infectious as his singular dimple appeared and his soft eyes crinkled in the corners the way you adored, "I get to spend the say being lazy at home with my girl? I'm not going to argue with that."

"You know what today calls for," your eyes were wide and bright as the two of you knew exactly what a snow day meant. You'd come up with your own little traditions a long time ago and always pulled them out on days like this.

"You just want an excuse for hot chocolate!" Frankie's tone was lovingly accusing as he crossed his arms over his chest as he took a sip from his mug.

"No!" you insisted firmly, offering him a small little pout, "your daughter is craving some. Ever since you knocked me up that's all I've been wanting! And I don't need any excuse for hot chocolate. Hot chocolate isn't a crime!"

"First of all, this -" he pointed tenderly to the small bump just visible under your sweater, "was a team effort. Secondly, you've always loved my hot chocolate, long before any of this. She had nothing to do with this!”

"Obviously," you stuck your tongue out at him, "but you make it all fancy and gourmet. How can I say no? She's not helping though! I swear it's a craving."

“Your mamá is already using you as an excuse,” he laughed as he rested his hand on your belly. You instantly felt her move and flutter under his touch; she always seemed to be more active when he was around. Even though you were trying to have a seriously teasing conversation, the moment was enough to make your heart melt, “can you believe it, mija? She just doesn’t want to admit she’s addicted to the world’s best hot chocolate.”

“I can quit it any time I want,” you snorted with laughter at his silly antics, “I just choose not to. Now, don’t deny your pregnant wife what she wants!”

“What does she want?” there was a wicked little glint in his eye as you raised a brow at him.

“Well for starters,” you pointed at the cabinet, “some hot chocolate later. But how about breakfast for now? And a warm bath after that? I swear I’m getting as bad as you old man, my back is killing me.”

“Hey now,” he warned with a small boop to your nose, “you’re getting awfully cheeky for someone who wants my hot chocolate. You’re on very thin ice, honey bee.”

“You know I’m only kidding, Francisco,” you gave him a quick kiss as you went to the refrigerator to start gathering ingredients for breakfast, “besides, you’re my favorite DILF.”

“Oh no,” his laughter was a loud, beautiful thing as it sounded throughout the kitchen. You turned to him and shot him a cheeky little wink, “not you too! Everyone’s calling me that lately, I swear.”

“They can look but they can’t touch. I mean, have you seen yourself Frankie? You’re handsome as hell, you’re amazing, wonderful, kind. Everything,” you insisted as you rejoined his side, You could already see the light flush of color in his cheeks as he relished your words, “and you’re all mine. Besides, I’m half the reason you’re a DILF. Where is my recognition in all of this?”

“I love you, honey bee,” he stared at you in awe for a moment before turning so he could kiss you properly. It took you by surprise but it took even less to respond back; kissing him was such saccharine bliss, “you are everything to me.”

“Good,” you beamed at him, “now let’s get this ultimate lazy day started!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Those might have been our best pancakes ever,” you wolfed down the last syrupy bite before pushing away your empty plate, “I feel as stuffed as a damn turkey.”

“You’re the most beautiful and radiant turkey I have ever laid eyes on,” he joked as you lovingly groaned at his silly words, “I’ll clean up and you can start the bath. Plan?”

“Plan,” you agreed as you slid off the bar stool and started padding towards the kitchen. As Frankie busied himself with gathering up the empty dishes, you turned around and watched him for a moment, nothing but a gentle warmth radiating throughout your body, “Frankie? You’re going to join me, right?”

He turned to you and offered you his megawatt smile as he slowly nodded, a rogue curl bouncing around and falling onto his forehead. Gods, he was so effortlessly handsome and sweet. You couldn’t stop yourself from rushing over to him, delicately grabbing his face as you pressed a kiss to his lips, still tasting the faint sweetness of the syrup, “what was that for?”

“Nothing,” you grinned breathlessly, “I just love you is all.”

“Oh,” a flush of pink tinged his cheeks as he brought his hands to your face, delicately tracing over your features before pressing the softest kiss to your lips, “I love you too.”

“I know,” you beamed, “now hurry up so we can take a bath!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were humming under your breath, sitting at the edge of the large tub as you watched it fill up with warm water. There weren’t very many requirements you had when the two of you had been house hunting before deciding to expand your family - but a large bathtub was one of them. Moments like this made you glad for it; you loved being able to slip into the tub, often dragging along Frankie with you, not that he had any complaints of course. It was perfect for the two of you, and now that you seemed to be growing by the day, it was even better. 

Pulling your favorite bottle of bubble bath off the shelf, you poured some in, inhaling deeply at the relaxing scent. All the stress and worries you had were already dissolving away with each passing second. Once you were satisfied with the copious amounts of soft bubbles, you threw in some Epsom salt for good measure, hoping it would help your aching body. Deciding to make it even more festive, you grabbed the speaker from your bedroom, and turned it on, opting to play some soft Christmas music in the background. It wasn’t like you were going to be paying much attention to it anyway; your conversations with Frankie always seemed endless, no matter how long the two of you had been together. 

“Close your eyes,” Frankie came into the bathroom just as you were finishing getting everything ready. You closed your eyes, making a show of putting your hands over your eyes as you heard him shuffling in, “okay, pick a hand - left or right.”

“Hmmm…” you mused for a moment, “how about left?”

“Lucky guess,” he chuckled as he pulled your hands from your eyes. A little grin spread across your features when you saw what he was holding in his hands, “surprise!”

“Frankie,” his name was but a mere soft sigh as you reached for the soft, cozy pajamas he was holding out to you. You could spy a matching pair for him on the counter, your heart fluttering in delight. It had become a sort of little tradition for the two of you to get new matching holiday pajamas every year. It was just some silly thing, but it still meant the world to you, “I love them. Thank you so much - you remembered.”

“Of course,” he held out his hands to you, slowly hoisting you to your feet, “I wouldn’t ever forget.”

He slowly reached for the hem of your sweater, gently pulling up and over your head and outstretched arms before tossing it on the floor. He followed suit with your bra, unclasping it before letting it join your sweater and doing the same to your leggings and underwear. It was such a small intimate thing, the way his eyes looked over you was nothing short of adoration and reverence. 

“Your turn,” you whispered before starting to unbutton his flannel, taking your time to undo it one by one. Shrugging it off his shoulders, you pressed a few kisses to the soft, golden skin of his shoulder before moving onto his jeans, wicking them down his legs along with his boxers. He made a small sound in his throat before stepping out of his jeans and pulling you into his arms. The gentle coolness of his wedding band on your back was wonderful; a delicate reminder of just how much he loved you.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as he trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, a hand running down your side as he rested it on your waist, taking solace in the gentle swell of your belly. He still couldn’t believe your daughter - his daughter, one that came as a small surprise and blessing was in there. One he had never known he wanted so much until you told him you were pregnant and he broke down crying, as emotional as you were. You, the two of you, were everything for him. 

“Hmm,” you mused, “you’re not so bad yourself. I guess we both got pretty lucky, huh? I love you so much, Francisco. More than you will ever know.” 

He looked back at you with those brown eyes you adored so much, and you could see that they were glossy, close to spilling over with tears. You reached up and touched his cheek before brushing away a stray curl. 

“Come on,” he held your hand as you motioned towards the tub. He got in first, settling down before holding his arms out to you. Carefully, you settled in next to him surprising him for a moment as you occupied the other side. Before he could say anything, you gathered up a handful of bubbles, and blew them at him, watching as they stuck in his dark mop of hair, “playing dirty are we?”

“Maybe,” you splashed him with the warm water, “you have to play nice, I’m pregnant!”

“You started it!” he splashed you back as you squealed in delight, “don’t start what you can’t finish!”

“Oh, it’s on! It’s so on,” you laughed as you tried to move the bubbles closer to your half of the tub, “you’re going down!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Do you have enough blankets, honey?” Frankie walked back into the living room, arms filled with a few more big, fuzzy blankets. You looked up from the comfy couch, during the numerous blankets you’d already secured and gave him a big grin. You were already feeling so toasty and warm in your new pajamas after your bath, and this just made it so much better. He snorted with laughter at the sight of only your head poking out, “oh.”

“It’s freezing!” you insisted, digging your arm out and pointing at your feet, “pile them on! The only thing I’m missing is your body.”

“I have a few more things to do first,” he put the blankets down and wrapped them around your feet, “gonna start a fire and then go and make the hot chocolate. You, my little bee, are in charge of finding our first movie. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“As if that’s a question,” you joked as you reached for the remote, as he went over to the fireplace, “you just need to hurry up!”

"You are getting so demanding," he laughed as he kneeled next to the fireplace and started to pile some of the logs in. He started to hum softly under his breath as you watched him, absolutely in awe of the man you were able to call your husband. The sight of him in the same pajamas as you was endearing and caused you a moment of pause as you pictured doing this next year with him and your daughter. 

You often wondered what she would like, although you both knew that the only thing that mattered was that she was healthy and sound. But a small part of you hoped she'd take after Frankie, to have those gentle chocolate eyes and dark curls. Maybe she'd take after you, or maybe -

"Everything alright?" Frankie turned and caught your distant gaze on him as she started to light the fire. You hadn't realized you'd gotten so lost in your little daydream. 

"Yes," you smiled at him, "just thinking..."

"Thinking about...."

"Its silly..."

"If it matters to you then it's not silly," he insisted, making a small sound of satisfaction when the fire started to crackle away merrily.

"I was just thinking about next year," you admitted shyly, "you know how we do the matching pjs every year? I think it would be fun to do that with the bean next year."

"I love the sound of that," he agreed, "that'll make a great Christmas card!"

"Yeah," you agreed as he brought you a pillow to rest your head on, "you really do think of everything, don't you?"

"Only for my bee," he promised with a wink and a kiss, "I'll go and make the hot chocolate. Classic for you today?"

"Surprise me!"

"Be back," he promised as pointed at the television, "now pick something good out!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

It seemed like it had been a small eternity since Frankie had left to go on his little adventure of hot chocolate making, and you'd long since found a suitable movie. You started it but kept it paused as you waited. But soon you felt a flutter in your belly. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you put your hand on your tummy where you felt her moving around.

"I know baby bean," you told her gently, "I miss him too. Even when he's gone only for a few minutes. You're gonna love him so much, just like me. He's going to be the best papá. We already love you so much. We can't wait to meet you."

"Talking to yourself?" just in time your knight in cozy pajamas came striding back in with two delicious steaming mugs of hot chocolate. 

"I am never alone anymore," you reminded him as he came and cozied up next to you, "I've always got the bean. And we were having a private conversation, thank you very much."

"Please don't let me interrupt," he passed your mug over before pulling blankets over his form and you curled up in his side. You grinned at the full mug, admiring how perfectly he had made it. It was a classic, a layer of mini marshmallows followed by a layer of whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate and caramel syrup.

"Thank you, Frankie," you beamed as you took a long sip, savoring the creamy sweetness on your tongue. You heard a soft chuckle before Frankie reached over and wiped off the whipped cream from your nose, "oops!"

"Good?" he asked as you nodded eagerly. Before he could stop himself, he leaned over and gave you a soft, saccharine little kiss. He lingered against your lips and you could taste the sweetness of the hot chocolate that was clinging onto him. He grinned before giving you a few more pecks, each sweeter than the last, "even better. Now, start this movie and let's get this marathon on the road!"

You clutched your mug to your chest as Frankie brought an arm over your shoulders and you pressed play on your first cheesy holiday movie.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It wasn't long before you felt your eyes start to get heavy as you finished your mug of hot chocolate. You were about to move it to the coffee table, but Frankie beat you to the punch, grabbing it from your hands and setting down before pulling you into his lap.

He wrapped his arms around you as you laid against his chest and let the soft rise and fall of his chest relax and lull you.

Soon enough your eyes closed and everything seemed distant. You didn't even try to fight it as Frankie pressed a kiss to your cheek. One hand was holding yours, your fingers laced together and the other was resting on your belly. It wasn't long before you were completely under the siren spell of sleep and snoring quietly in his arms.

"I love you, honey bee," he whispered ever so gently as he relaxed too, growing more tired by the second, "and you too, baby bee. You two are everything."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[thewheezingwyvern]

Hey hey. I was wondering if I could request a Werewolf! Bakugo x Mage Reader who he convinces to help him through his first heat....and not through magic 😏

dskfsaj; Thank you @ladyshinigami! I hope this is just what you were looking for! Obviously Bakugou is an adult here in addition to being a werewolf.

ℂ𝕣𝕪𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕫𝕖

Werewolf!Bakugou x Mage!Fem!Reader

Kinks/Warnings: Heat/ABO, Breeding

The weeks travels had been particularly draining. It seemed like not a thing could go right without a hiccup of some sort. You were supposed to be at the Cordis for your initiation into the upper ranks of mages three days ago. But just about anything that could have gone wrong did go wrong. The two of you had been waylaid in Fractured Pass when a brutal blizzard tore through the mountains, the way forward becoming completely impassable. Diligently you had tried to use your magic to help melt a way through but fire magic had never been your forte. That left you both with little choice but to hole up in a cave and live off your packed rations until the snow had melted enough for passage two days later.

“You have been nothing but a pain in the ass, shitty woman.” Snarled the werewolf over you, your arms pinned above your head. While he was still holding his human form, those eyes had begun to emit a dim glow, one you may not have noticed if the sun hadn’t set. Under normal circumstances you would be worried he was about to shift and go feral, but a certain tell tale bulge pressed against your lower stomach was enough to dispel that worry, “I was supposed to be rid of you.”

His hips rolled, grinding his very erect girth against you, and he subsequently snarled, as if his hips had done that without his permission. When you stared up at him, you noticed his pupils were dilated, swollen to nearly double its normal size. The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched as he glared down at you, perspiration dotting his brow in the process. There was a fine tremble in his limbs and he seemed like he was holding something back. Your eyes widened. Maybe his hips HAD moved without his permission.

“You’re in heat, aren’t you?”

“You work that out yourself, dumb ass?” he squeezed your wrists tighter, “If you hadn’t gotten robbed back in that backwater village and I had to go get the other half of the coin, I might have been able to get somewhere else that I could handle it.” Bakugou spat out a vicious snarl, eyes widening as he took in raspy breaths, “Stop fucking moving.”

The length of his cock twitched against your belly at your wriggling, and you stilled almost immediately. But it was too late to calm down the blonde for already the tang of your gathering arousal had hit his nose, causing his mouth to water. Your scent was so perfect, intoxicating and it ensnared his attention so it was focused solely on you. The intensity of his stare had heat flooding your body, pussy quivering at the thought of him railing into you just like this. Despite the bickering the two of you had done the entire journey, he was distressingly attractive and you had many dreams of him coming onto you in the night.

“Then let me go.” You shot back, heart thundering in your chest at the idea of him pinning you down harder.

Bakugou dropped his face down so he his nose was almost touching yours, “No. Help me. Fix it, you caused our delay.”

While he wasn’t exactly wrong, the fact was, you didn’t need much convincing to help him with his little problem. A part of you knew that you should just treat it with magic, you likely had a spell in your personal tome, but that was the furthest idea from  your mind. Throwing all caution to the wind you lifted your head up and pressed your mouth against his. The response was immediate, Bakugou crushed his mouth down onto yours, tongue flooding between your lips to taste as he so wanted. He heaved a low satisfied groan against your lips, making sure to still keep you imprisoned beneath him as he wanted. That kiss lit a fire in both of you and before you could even process what was happening, the werewolf was sitting up and roughly started peeling off his own clothes. Rough enough that you heard the distinct rip of fabric. After settling himself between your legs, those calloused hands groped at your front before ripping open the collar of your tunic. An outraged cry escaped you at the act. You only had one spare for the trip and he ruined it!

“You better replace that!” you squawked at him.

“Shut up.” He shot back but his mouth was split in a wide smirk.

While the air had warmed so that frost couldn’t take hold, it was still cool enough to summon up a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin. Bakugou watched as your cute nipples pebbled for him before laughing darkly and dipping his head down to taste. The moan you gave was impossibly sweet and he couldn’t wait to have your voice echoing over the rolling hills around you two. He’d been wanting to hear you scream his name since a few days into the journey. The sound of your protests melting away beneath his groping and suckling on one of your sensitive buds had his cock swelling even more. While he wanted to take his time and really explore every inch of you, his heat burned his senses until he was roughly pushing your thighs up to your chest and sinking his swollen length into your dripping want.

“Fuuuuck-!” you whined, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

Your fingers twisted into the plush grass you laid on top of, feeling Bakugou stretch your walls to accommodate his impressive girth. The carnal drive to fuck you and pump you full of his own cum overrode any further coherent thought and his hips were hammering against yours. With every stroke he sheathed himself fully into you, hilted completely and making your walls burn at the intrusion. But it melted away to pleasure rather quickly, sweet friction pulling delicious moans out of your opened mouth. Bakugou, however, was ripping carnal snarls out of his throat, mind growing blank with pure instinctive lust. The animal in him wanted for the next village to hear you cry out his name. Hell he wanted the Cordis to be able to hear your shrieks of pleasure.

“I’m going to pump you so full of my cum,” he grunted out, “You’ll be pregnant before you even make it to that stuffy mage temple.”

“Ah-B-Bakugou!”

“Say it louder. Scream it.” There was a deeper rumble to his voice now, the octave dipped so low and gravelly that he almost sounded like an entirely different person, “Let them hear you!”

You did just as he asked, rocking your own hips up to meet his with every stroke. Fleshy slaps reverberated through the air, carnelian red eyes locked onto that stupid little smoky quartz crystal you wore around your neck. It winked at him, almost tauntingly, reminding him that he COULDN’T take you home with him. Once you two made it to the high house of the mages, that would be the end of your journey. 

So Bakugou did what he only could do: he fucked you harder. 

He railed himself into you so hard that he was certain you’d be bruised later but you didn’t seem to mind. And he certainly didn’t stop when his white hot seed gushed out of his dick, flooding into your warm, quivering pussy. He didn’t pull out and he stayed sheathed inside of you until he was finished cumming. As much as he wanted to think of your belly swollen with one of his pups, he knew that you would have your own magical concoction to prevent that from happening if you didn’t want it. A sneer curled across his mouth at your glazed over expression, pleasure sheathed around you as your pussy quivered.

Bakugou may not be able to take you back with him but he could damn well make sure that you’d never forget him.

((Want to participate in Arcane April? Check out my post here about the event and send in your requests!))